


Devotion

by kawaiikune



Category: Midsommar (2019)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence and Dubious Morality, Dreams, Drug Use, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Love Triangle, Occult, Post-Canon, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26208067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawaiikune/pseuds/kawaiikune
Summary: “So you never act in a certain way to get a desired outcome? You don’t ever omit things or, dare I say, lie to people for their own good?”Saki shakes her head. “I never said that.”“Oh, but when you do it it’s to benice, right?” Ingemar’s grin is sweetly derisive. Her heart thumps unsteadily at the sight.[I know, I know. No one asked for an Ingemar/OC Midsommar fic yet here we are.]
Relationships: Ingemar (Midsommar)/Original Female Character(s), Karin (Midsommar)/Original Female Character
Comments: 32
Kudos: 51





	1. First Love / Late Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Side B — Strawberry Blonde. I’m so tired of looking at this I can’t tell if it’s good or not. Please be nice this is my first fanfic! Also, all the chapters will be named after songs with a second title option in the author's note. The artist of both songs is Mitski. Might add more tags as time goes on, still not sure about that summary.

Saki doesn’t meet Ingemar until mid-November, coming off a string of doomed dates to finally get over Simon now that he has a girlfriend. Of course, she facilitates this process by answering Simon's text to meet up tonight at a party some anarchists in the Gender Studies department are throwing. The anarchists host things so often she already knows it’s only a thirty minute train ride before she’s knocking at their flat door. 

On her way inside, her scarf gets caught in but before she can be too embarrassed, Simon is there to help untangle her. “Hey! I was wondering when you’d get here. Nice entrance.”

As he hands her the end of her scarf, their fingers brush, and she flushes. “Thank you.”

Simon guides her through the crowd with a light hand on her shoulder. “How was the trip here? I know I texted you pretty late but I really wanted you to come to this one.”

“Really?” she asks, glancing up at him hopefully. “Why is that?”

“We want you to meet someone,” Simon says. “Babe! Saki’s here.” She’s brought to reality with a sick lurch. “Connie met him first at the farm and then we all became friends.”

“Saki!” Connie exclaims, bundling Saki’s stiff limbs into a hug under the kitchen’s bare lightbulb. “Where have you _been_ lately? I feel like I never see you anymore.” 

Saki can’t meet Connie’s eyes as she replies, “I’ve just been busier than usual lately.”

“Well, never mind that. Ingemar,” Connie calls out to a man bent over a cooler. “This is our friend we’ve been going on about—she’s known Simon longer than I have, if you can believe it.”

Simon and Connie have only been dating for two months but act as if it’s been years. Even in their first weeks as a couple all memories, especially ones of Saki and Simon—orientation when Saki fretted over a drunk boy passed out face-first on the sidewalk, spring semester Sustainability 101 when the boy revealed his name to be Simon and thanked her for getting him a cab, their tentative friendship soon tested by a phone call that still played on in her nightmares—were subsumed into the shared narrative of Simon-and-Connie. Of course, Connie can’t believe it. She wasn’t there. And conceptualizing a Simon before her, that she doesn’t know and will never know, not like Saki does, is just not in her capabilities. 

“Hello Saki,” says a cheerful voice, pulling her from her thoughts. There’s a hand extended in front of her that she takes automatically. It’s attached to a short man with wispy blonde curls, who she registers as good-looking, in a detached sort of way. Like noting the weather. 

“Hi... Ingemar?” Her tongue trips over the name and she can hear her accent thicken around the edges.

“Ah, Connie told me you were an international student, too,” Ingemar says with a commiserating grin. “These two have it so easy studying in their home city _and_ native language. We’ve got to stick together, don’t we?”

“Um, yes,” she agrees absent-mindedly, trying not to stare at how Simon wanders over to Connie to reel her into his arms. Saki forces herself to focus on Ingemar. He’s holding two Carlings loosely in one hand and leans on the counter in front of her with an unreadable curl to his mouth.

“I almost forgot, Connie.” Ingemar slides a bottle over where it stops just out of Connie’s reach. “I brought you a beer from the cooler. Apologies, Saki,” he says, bright blue eyes pinning her in place, “I can also get you a drink now that you’re here?”

“Sorry, mate. Connie doesn’t like that brand anymore.” Simon picks it up easily without dislodging Connie. “Says it tastes off or something. I’ll drink it instead, ’s fine. Also, Saki only likes her alcohol sweet—I can get the good stuff hidden in the back of the freezer. C’mon babe. I’ll find you something, too.”

Simon and Connie head for the fridge still wrapped around each other. Saki feels the air change, get heavy almost, but when she glances at Ingemar he’s just scrolling through his phone. She averts her gaze once Simon reappears at her elbow with a cup of what looks to be wine. It’s perfect of course, sweet enough she can barely taste the alcohol, but still strong enough to send an arrow of warmth through her. As the night wears on, she doesn’t bother keeping track of the conversation, the kitchen is a prime location, so many people filter in and out to gather around the extroverts she’s with, and entertain them as she watches everyone unnoticed. Occasionally, she leaves for a refill every time seeing Simon place a casual hand on Connie’s waist or hip becomes too much. It’s only when she’s swirling around the droplets in her cup that she realizes she has to pee, badly. 

In the bathroom mirror, her face is rendered a bright red smudge by her bleary eyes. She presses both palms to her cheeks but can barely feel it. She pulls a face as childish as she feels. How much did she drink? Saki can’t even hold onto the thought long enough to begin counting and instead attempts to make her way back to the kitchen. Except, Ingemar is sitting at the bottom of the staircase, elbows on his knees and half his face in shadow. There’s something about his expression that sends a ripple of unsettlement up her spine.

“We are both so far from home,” Ingemar says slowly, not looking at her. “But that’s not the only thing we have in common, is it?”

Saki automatically deflects in discomfort. “Where did Connie and Simon go?”

“They went to the back garden for some ‘air.’” He throws up scare quotes with a shrug. “That was a while ago. You’ve been gone a pretty long time.” 

“I was doing the face test,” she says inanely.

He quirks an eyebrow, amused. “The face test?” 

“It’s a silly thing my friends back home and I started. To tell how drunk you are, you try to feel your own face.”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” he says, faux-pensive. “I’m not so certain if I’m sold on this.” 

Saki laughs and hops down the last few steps. “I’ll show you,” she says, crouching down to his level. It’s only when she’s gripped his hands and brought them halfway up to his face does she falter at her presumptuousness. “Sorry, I probably should not have just—” But he finishes the arc for her, their fingers laced. 

“What’s the next step?”

“H-how does it feel?” she asks. “Is the touch somewhat fuzzy, as if it’s not your own hands? Or does it feel like normal?”

“It’s more like pins and needles. What does that mean?” 

“You’re drunk.”

He laughs, loud and startled. “I could’ve told you that.” His sharp features are brought alive by it—he has a face suited for smiling, she thinks faintly—a direct contrast to Simon’s pouty, more serious countenance. 

“Yes, but now you have an objective marker,” she says imperiously.

Ingemar regards her for a long moment. “I’ve got a trick up my sleeve too, you know. I can tell a person’s hidden desires just by looking into their eyes,” he says. His voice is so low and serious she finds herself closing her eyes tight. He chuckles. “It’s too late now. You are suffering from a case of… unrequited love. Am I wrong?”

The silence between them stretches like taffy.

Saki drops his hands, heart pounding. “Why would you say that?”

“I apologize for upsetting you,” he begins, brow furrowed in concern. She shakes her head as she keeps her gaze on the carpeted floor. “I really do. But I’m not going to tell Simon.”

“Don’t say his name!” 

“Saki, it is alright.” Ingemar laughingly removes the hand she had instinctively slapped over his mouth. “Your secret is safe with me. I am in the same situation.”

She peers down at him tearily. God, the alcohol is causing her emotions to be all over the place. “Really?”

“The way you feel for Simon is how I feel for Connie,” Ingemar says, bright-eyed. “And I think I can help you out.”

“Help me out how?” 

“By getting us Connie and Simon.”

Saki frowns. “But they’re dating.”

“For now.” The playful lilt in his voice does little to hide the sharp edge of his assuredness. Saki feels the hairs on the back of her neck rise. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of it,” he assures her. “Just—be patient. Open. Understanding. All of which you’re already doing.”

“I don’t know—”

“Please. If it doesn’t work then no harm,” he pleads. “How long have you wanted Simon only for Connie to come along? We should at least _try_ to make our cases.” 

Ingemar has straightened up from his earlier slump, now seeming far bigger than he originally did in the kitchen. Everyone seems smaller in comparison to Simon, who tends to be the tallest person wherever he goes, who takes up the most space in a room and in her heart. Except now she feels like she’s missed something important about Ingemar. As she maintains a stare-off with a relative stranger, questions roil through her mind that she doesn’t have the sobriety or the information to answer. The placid lines of Ingemar’s face are inscrutable. But a curiosity has been sparked in her. Can Simon actually be hers? What does Ingemar plan to do? What isn’t being said here? Ingemar must sense her faltering because his eyes light up so much that Saki has to look away.

“Just make sure no one gets hurt,” she says softly. At his vigorous nod she continues, “I’m not going to help. But I won’t say anything either.”

Ingemar puts a finger to his lips, smiling. “It’ll be our secret.”

* * *

Ingemar taps a noiseless rhythm against the plane armrest. Connie is at a window seat beside Simon. Next to Ingemar in the middle seat, Saki sleeps with her chin on her chest. Earlier Connie forced a Tylenol PM down the transfer student's throat, almost over a cold Ingemar had hoped would keep her in England, but alas. She had kept a death grip on the arm rests as the plane rose up through the overcast London sky. _Fear of flying_ , she admitted, self-conscious. He just smiled understandingly as if he didn’t already know this and included it in the list of reasons why she was never supposed to come on this trip. It’s a minor one, he knows. Strike number 0.5. But he’s spent the better part of a year trying to find any reason to disentangle the threads between these three. 

Things had seemed so simple in September, crisp early fall setting in: meeting a beautiful girl in dirt-stained overalls as she planted cover crop in the row behind him, going out for drinks one night after weeks of talking so much during their volunteer hours they’d been scolded by the farmhand. Afterwards, Ingemar had known. This was his match. Upon teasing out more information about her birth, his suspicions were confirmed upon seeing her stars, a strong-willed Sagittarius to compliment his clever Gemini. Then, Simon came along. Late not only to the volunteer program but to the connection growing between him and Connie. And, of course, Simon’s quiet shadow—Saki.

Now, he faces not only the judgement of Pelle, carrying his own spoils of the Hunt, but of the community. He still has time to work on Connie, he assures himself. He will not be the one found wanting.

Ingemar lets this confidence carry him all the way to the meadow. Connie is the most alert as she takes in the green hills, the flowers in bloom. Saki remains groggy from her cold medicine dosage but at least is no longer poorly concealing sniffles. Meanwhile, Simon stumbles out from the car, he took an impromptu nap during the winding drive over and sorely tested Ingemar’s patience with his snoring. In the distance, Ingemar notices a set of hands waving at him from their perch on the plush grass. 

He perks up and strides ahead, “Come, come! We all meet up here before heading to the festivities tomorrow.” 

Engulfed in a flurry of hugs and handshakes, he immediately jumps into introductions, running down the names of his tributes to his excited brother and sisters, glancing with meaning at Connie. Ingemar soon learns in their brief switch to Swedish about their time outside and that he has arrived before Pelle, a flush of pride runs through him. One sister nudges him chidingly for his obvious pleasure and he smiles back innocently. Tuning back into the conversation, Ingemar notes with pride Connie is carrying most of it, so friendly and bright as she jokes with his siblings about the long flight, completely at home.

“Let’s get settled in first, guys,” Ingemar cuts in. “We still have that tent to put up.”

“Good idea, mate.” Simon tries to clap a hand on Ingemar’s shoulder. However, Ingemar walks away fast enough to avoid the touch and make it seem like an accident. 

He’s already spread out the groundsheet by the time Simon catches up. “Let me help. I’ve camped before,” Simon says, picking up a pole. 

Ingemar makes room for him with only a minimal amount of annoyance, hiding a wince at his obviously inexperienced hold.

“When did a London boy like you go camping?” Connie teases. Her and Saki observe from a respectable distance away as the boys begin to hammer in the stakes. Ingemar does it in a visibly practiced motion while Simon struggles. 

Simon is half-turned to Connie and taking up all her attention, Ingemar notes bitterly. Simon puffs up his chest. “Maybe I’ve got some hidden depths.”

Connie snorts. “Ah, yes. I’m really believing the big strong man bit from someone who can’t open up a jar of marmalade.” 

“Now wait just a minute—” Simon says, an infuriating smirk at the edge of his lips, and forgets the side of the tent he’s holding up with Ingemar. Half of the tent deflates with the movement and the other slips out of Ingemar’s hands to crumple in an orange heap. “Shit. Sorry man.”

“No, it’s—” Ingemar is saying but when Simon bends down, hand outstretched, he snaps. “Don’t touch anything! Jesus, I’ll do it.”

He deftly salvages the tent, jaw clenched, as Simon fidgets uselessly beside him, seemingly rooted to the spot. It’s only when Ingemar stands up after he’s finished that he registers the change in the air. The space between Connie’s eyebrows is puckered and Saki’s eyes are nervously darting between them all, probably wondering how to fade into the background with as conflict-averse as she is. Before the inevitable confrontation, his brash Saggitarius never hides her thoughts long, he puts on a smile two degrees off from true remorse.

“Sorry, I’m a bit of a micro-manager, but only when it comes to important things like proper tent set-up,” Ingemar jokes. 

Simon laughs self-deprecatingly. “No hard feelings! I almost mucked up where we have to sleep after all.”

“Well, I hope all is forgiven because—” Ingemar pulls out a plastic baggy of mushrooms. “I know not all of us usually partake,” he begins, glancing at Saki’s apprehensive expression, “ _but_ this is a really important part of the Midsommar festival. Everyone in the meadow takes these on the first night.”

Saki is a pain about mind-altering substances of any kind. Often, during parties where Connie was drunkenly loose-limbed and curious about his “bag of goodies,” coined from the ravings of the grad students he occasionally sold to, Saki would swoop in to bundle her into a cab once the high hit, or sometimes even before Connie could imbibe. He knew he was meant to be more sparing with village herbs but Grandmother Siv never questioned the money he sent back every couple weeks. Neither did she oversee his and Pelle’s methods for wooing their respective matches. Except, Ingemar had a 162 centimeter tall roadblock. He learned to make do with moments, timing himself down to the droop of Connie’s eyelids, slipping in a sentence or two of suggestion—the only thing he had to show for his work was her here, now. He only hopes the seeds he’s planted have taken root and are watered by her meeting the family.

It was only at a post-finals pub crawl of mostly environmentalists he learned the true extent of Saki’s aversion. As the sole translation student, she was cajoled into telling an embarrassing story during a drinking game, so regaled them with her arrival at their graduate program: a thirteen hour flight from Osaka, two prescribed Ambien downed without immediately going to sleep, and the three flight attendants who had to coax her out of the bathroom, terrified of an evil doppelganger in her window. The table in hysterics, she finished up by saying she only touches alcohol now and Ingemar laughed along, _Strike two_ , echoing through his mind.

Today, he frowns in false concern, and says, “I would not want you to be left out. Since the rest of us will be taking it, right?”

Simon and Connie immediately rise to the bait. Connie, as adventurous as ever, exclaims, “I’ve been dying to try out more of your stash. None of what I’ve had so far has been super crazy.” She directs this last bit at Saki, who tugs at the end of her french braid, discomfited by everyone’s attention. Of course, it’s Simon that deals the final blow to her defenses. “We’ll be here if your trip turns bad. We’re out in a field with nothing to be worried about. You can trust us to look out for you.”

Saki nods jerkily. “I—okay. I trust you.” She looks up at Connie and Ingemar then tacks on belatedly, “All of you.”

“There is a tea version, would you like that instead?” Ingemar smiles solicitously. Before she can finish nodding, he is off. 

Ulla is tasked with one of the thermos this year and happens to be sitting not too far off with it laid across her jean-clad legs. She greets him with a joyous cry, arms outstretched. After paying the toll, which is being enveloped in her warm and earthy embrace, he asks for a cup.

“Ah, for your mate?” she asks in sly Swedish.

Ingemar shakes his head adamantly. “No, no. This is just for one of my friends.” 

Ulla merely laughs at his discomfort and sends him off with a jaunty wave. He returns to see the trio spread out on a blanket on the grass. Connie and Simon are sitting practically on top of each other while Saki sits in the opposite corner, arms wrapped around her knees.

“Your drink,” he says, kneeling down. 

“Thank you.”

Her hands don’t brush his as she takes the cup. She looks down into the liquid with the same reservation of a child scared to return to bed after a particularly terrifying story during Yule. Ingemar stifles a laugh as he passes the mushrooms to Connie and then Simon. At Ingemar’s count, they all down the herb at the same time. Simon pulls a face, Saki frowns anxiously, and Connie whoops, delighted, as everyone settles in to wait.

Ingemar leans back on his palms as a breeze ruffles through his hair as if it, too, wants to welcome him home. Out of the corner of his eye, Ingemar spies Connie wriggling, shifting to— rest her head on Simon’s lap. Of course. Ingemar clenches a fistful of grass at the sight, his anger a low simmer, watching Simon enjoy what is meant to be _his_. He looks away when Simon begins to stroke Connie’s hair. He remembers to relax his hand and ripped blades of grass flutter away.

Ingemar studies the straggler of the group, Saki, who is staring ahead morosely. The girl he assumed to be mere detritus, easily brushed aside, has quickly become a thorn burrowed in his side. He had gained her complicity in his machinations months ago, yet what did he have to show for it? Despite his best attempts, Simon remained true no matter how many drinks Ingemar mixed him. Saki’s hopelessly meek personality barred her from grasping the many opportunities Ingemar gave her. And not even Connie acted according to plan, failing to succumb to his magnetic charm that has snared him many willing partners at home. No, instead, Connie and Simon were now _engaged_. The very thought of their upcoming nuptials leaves a bitter taste in Ingemar’s mouth. Yet another tie to the outside world he must cut for her during these next few days.

Ingemar cannot help but think if not for Saki’s cowardice, Simon would never have even had the chance to steal Connie right from under him. He only hates her a little for this. 

Thus, his true reasoning for not wanting to bring Saki home is laid bare. The Elders do not let women go lightly—and to sacrifice one without even trying to induct her into the family? There is a sliver of him that worries of gaining an unwanted sister. It is the pettiest of his current concerns. He is certain she will not be as good of a fit as his bright, shining Connie but that is not for him to decide. Hopefully, Connie’s fire will eclipse anything that dares to detract attention from her.

The slam of a car door rings out across the meadow. 

Spying Pelle’s gangly limbs unfurling from the driver’s seat, glowing with mirth and excitement, Ingemar knows the Hunt has just truly begun. 

* * *

Saki can’t tell if the drugs are kicking in or not. 

The sky is the same unerring blue as when she first arrived. The wind is still skimming its fingers across her face. Her hands are still her hands. Or so she thinks. Saki looks down to check and then wiggles each digit for extra assurance. Connie had painted them a shiny red a few nights ago in the colorful yet crowded flat she shared with four other girls. Sometimes, Saki worried she wasn’t trying enough with Connie. Whenever they hung out the guilt ate away at her because of how funny and interesting and perfect Connie was for Simon. It wasn’t Connie’s fault that she went for what she wanted instead of deliberating endlessly like Saki did. She’d had months to say something, anything. But what did she do? Nothing. 

The decision to tag along on a trip to Sweden a month before take-off is just a diversion, brought on by a late night spiral thinking about her post-grad plans, will she stay in London and try to figure out her visa or return to the void that waited for her in Osaka. Instead of choosing, she ended up here, taking the place of a guy in the Policy department that flaked. He volunteered at the farm Connie, Simon, and Ingemar all met at, although Saki never saw him as he was always running off to class or various internships. Every time Simon or Connie brought up her maybe coming Saki swore Ingemar’s smile twitched and so she’d declined gracefully up until her moment of impulse weeks ago. 

Now, she can add taking mushrooms to her string of poor decisions. Backpacking through Europe with the man she’s in love with and his fiancé still topped the list though. 

Speaking of, Saki sits up—when did she lie down?—to ask one of them how much time has passed. Except she’s alone. She looks around, confused, certain that Connie and Simon were sitting right behind her only a moment ago. Ingemar she definitely saw wander off earlier, after they met his brother and the Americans. There was an unspoken tension to Ingemar and Pelle’s interactions that she picked up on but couldn’t parse why. Which is basically all of her own dealings with the Swede, an undercurrent of something hidden, swimming beneath the placid surface of their conversations. It set her on edge. It also fanned her curiosity to an unbearable degree.

Saki rises to her feet with great effort. The ground won’t stay still. It’s spinning in concentric circles underneath her converse. Oh, the mushrooms, she realizes belatedly. Even thinking feels slow and thick like a muggy summer afternoon. Saki stumbles in a random direction, flowers conscientiously parting for her as she walks. She has to find Simon and Connie. She repeats this to herself so she doesn’t forget, like she’s forgotten why she needs to find them. But she’ll remember that part later.

Then, she spots a familiar face, Ingemar standing by a picnic table. He’s frowning as he looks into the woods. 

Saki mimics his expression in sympathy. “Is everything okay?”

He blinks, startled. “Oh. Yes, yes, I am fine. Are you?”

“I think so. But I can’t find Connie and Simon,” she says. 

“They’re probably off enjoying themselves somewhere.” A shadow flickers across his face before it’s smoothed away seamlessly by blank cheer. “Which you should also be doing. It’s not so bad after all, right? No side effects?”

Saki shakes her head. “No side effects. Wait, side effects.” Her heart ratchets up a few notches. “Do you think it was a good idea to mix Tylenol and these mushrooms?” Saki’s mind works sluggishly, trying to recall the label’s warning instructions. “What if my heart stops? What if I _die_? Oh my God, Ingemar, you’ve killed me!”

Ingemar bursts into laughter. “I don’t think Tylenol is strong enough for that. No one drops dead from a little psychedelics.” He’s practically bent over from it, from laughing at her, loud and obvious to everyone around them. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” she says, small and sullen. 

“I’m sorry—I—” He breathlessly clutches his stomach.

“I said don’t laugh at me!” Saki snaps, voice rising. “I know you don’t like me, Ingemar.” He stares in shock at her as she continues, viciousness bleeding into her words, “I can see right through you. I can see through _everyone_.” 

She storms off. She can’t tell where she’s going, her surroundings are throbbing wildly around her, like the world is one big angry bruise. She lurches to a stop at a tree. She closes her eyes and places her forehead against its trunk. She still feels like she’s spinning, her stomach churning dangerously. _Don’t throw up,_ she chides herself. She tries to breathe through the nausea like she used to during her panic attacks last spring. In, out. In, out. In, out. The repetitiveness begins to sooth her overworked nerves. Until she hears a sigh. 

“Where did I go wrong with you, Misaki?” a long-suffering voice asks.

Her veins turn to ice. 

“I raised such a weak girl. So quiet, so meek.” There’s a weighted pause. “You take too much after your father.”

Saki shakes her head. “No.”

“What are you even doing here? Didn’t you promise to distance yourself? After you nearly drank yourself to death at their engagement party? Even though you tried so hard to break them up?” 

“Stop it.”

“You say nothing when a person you just met plans to sabotage the relationship of the boy you claim to love. But then you can’t even stick to that. You have to intervene. You have to stop him.” Here, the voice dips into a mocking falsetto. “But you were half-hearted. Inconsistent. You kept Connie and Ingemar apart only when you felt guilty. You accepted his pushing Simon towards you, but then squander it because of a false sense of morality. How important are your morals when not even they can spur you into action?”

“You’re not real,” Saki groans in English, folding in on herself. “None of this is real.” 

“I have to take responsibility for how you’ve turned out. I’m your mother after all.” 

“My mother is _dead_.”

The wind—or is it a hand?—ruffles her hair. “If you’re so sure of that, why won’t you open your eyes?”

Rather than answer, Saki does what she does best—she runs. She’s only a few strides in before she trips, and falls right in the middle of a circle of people. Embarrassment spreads through her white-hot. They’re going to laugh at her just like Ingemar. She tries to scramble up but she’s disoriented and her arms keep sliding out from under her. She can’t figure out up from down, the blinding white of their clothes and the endless sun shining above. Saki can only say _I’m sorry, I’ll go, I’m so sorry_ as the circle closes in on her, hands rubbing her back comfortingly, soothing words falling over her that she doesn’t understand.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, wobbly. They just shush her softly like she’s a spooked animal.

Somehow, she ends up on her side curled up. Someone's palms are clasped between hers, squeezing every time her breath hitches, and the grass is soft under her cheek. Everyone’s kindness makes her tear up more. A guitar begins to play along with her sniffles, the music causing the hands on her back and shoulders to sway her side to side as they also move to the melody. The mood isn’t brought down by her moroseness nor does it feel like they’re ignoring her feelings. Instead, it feels as if she’s being sympathized with, slowly coaxed into the same bright, weightless place everyone else is in rather than left behind to suffer alone.

Last time she had one of her “episodes” as the school counselor called them, she had been in the library bathroom stall trying to sob quietly enough so the librarian didn’t come in. Simon used to be the one she went to for this, the one who patted her on the head before making her a cup of tea. But now he had a girlfriend to care about and no longer had time to answer the calls of a girl who heard things that didn’t exist. Just like now, he was nowhere to be found. Saki couldn’t even pinpoint the cause that time. One moment she was typing a paper, the next she heard a voice criticizing every stroke of her keyboard. It was always her mother. Her father was a man of few words before poor health finally caught up to him. It’s kind of fucked that she’d missed it these past months, her mother telling her everything wrong in her life. At least someone demands better from and for her. Saki struggles to muster the assertiveness to return a wrong coffee order, or even say no to drugs despite the PSAs.

Ingemar appears in her line of sight then, made blurry through her tears. When he crouches down, she finds herself clinging to him, hands fisted in the bottom of his T-shirt. She curses clinginess but doesn’t let go. “What are you doing here?” she asks, instead of the _please don’t leave me_ that wants to escape.

“I have been looking for you to apologize.” There’s a genuine contriteness in his blue eyes. But also a glimmer of curiosity she’s never seen directed at her before. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was far too callous, especially as a host.”

“Oh.”

“Can you forgive me?” Ingemar asks with an exaggerated pout.

Saki averts her eyes, unimpressed. “I don’t know.”

There is that surprise again. She leans in closer to study it better and the expression spreads, deepens. It is not immediately swallowed up by the congenial blankness Ingemar dons like a second skin. When Saki’s hand twitches with the urge to map it, to feel the looseness surprise gives his carefully arranged face—something is called out to them in jeering Swedish.

Ingemar responds tersely to someone Saki can’t see and a titter of giggles travels across the circle. He must feel her fingers tighten because he quickly reassures her. “Don’t worry. They are laughing at me. Not you. Come, let’s listen to the music.”

He helps her up onto her knees and falls back to sit with his legs in front of him. Still holding on to him, Saki is pulled along with this motion and in an attempt not to crush him, she decides the best course for her is to settle sideways. Except this ends her with her head pillowed on his thighs and facing his toned stomach. Blood rushes up to her face as she realizes Ingemar probably meant for her to sit _next_ to him, not on him. She snaps her eyes shut. Maybe if she can’t see, she can pretend this isn’t happening. Ingemar doesn’t seem particularly concerned as he shifts beneath her to lean on his hands. She finds herself following his calm breaths and sinking into his warmth as light humming rises around them.

The guitar strumming transitions into a floaty, delicate sound. Various voices chime in at different intervals like dandelion seeds being scattered in a draft until it seems everyone is singing. Saki drifts to it, unconsciousness reaching out for her. She slips under right as its touch alights on her head.


	2. Fireside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side B — Boyish.   
> Fjällsippa - mountain avon, yellow and white Swedish flowers.  
> Hej så länge - See you later.

Pelle’s match is still unconscious when it’s time to head towards the festival grounds. Ingemar is half-listening to his group converse—them seated and him standing somewhat impatiently—as they wait for Pelle’s American’s to gather themselves. Ingemar fights a smirk at Dani’s disorientation upon waking up from her fitful sleep to see everyone packed and geared up for the trek through the forest. Connie metabolized the mushrooms just fine. Her mind may not be Hårgan yet but her body is already preparing her, opening her up to the influence. Although Connie spent most of her high taking care of a vomiting Simon, Ingemar still counts it as a win. He purposefully doesn’t think of how he spent _his_ time under the mushrooms. Saki hasn’t looked him in the eye all morning.

“Where are we going?” Ingemar hears Dani ask faintly from across the meadow.

Pelle is only too eager to answer. “What we came for,” he says, needlessly cryptic.

Ingemar doesn’t suppress his eye roll as he gestures to his guests that they can finally get going. They automatically fall into a loose line with Ingemar in front. The walk is a path between the trees too straight and neat to not be man-made, strewn with flowers to guide the pilgrims home. His previous trips back were all in the passenger seat of a pick-up truck so he revels in the opportunity to orient himself in the lush, verdant scenery of where he belongs. The sun-dappled tree leaves, the moss green grass, and early dawn’s shadows pulling across their shoulders. His spirits rise with the wind that takes the chance to sweep through. Soon, this will be where Connie belongs. Dani too, Ingemar concedes, albeit grudgingly. His brother has never been one for leaving a task unfinished.

Ingemar will admit Dani’s pretty in the way of sunshine and fjällsippa on mountainsides, a beauty already modeled to him by his many fair-haired sisters, but there’s a mopey softness to her that bores him. All that water in her chart, while rejuvenating to Pelle’s dry, earth-y sensibilities, would only weigh Ingemar down. No, he far preferred a partner whose inner flame he could fan to dizzying heights. There was a moment, last night, he thought he glimpsed a small ember in Saki—her clear-eyed _I can see right through you_ still echoes in his mind—but he quickly banished that line of musing. Connie’s fire is immediately visible to all who meet her, in the brightness of her grin, the delightful burn of her laugh, and the warm brown of her skin.

The Americans catch up to his Brits’ pace and, as is in their nature, immediately take boisterous control over the resulting conversation. Pelle casually drifts to Ingemar’s side in the front, unnoticed. He fights to keep his posture relaxed as his brother’s perceptive gaze settles on him.

“It’s great we have finally returned from pilgrimage,” Pelle says, a shade too neutral.

“Cut the shit,brother.” Ingemar switches to Swedish. “I have known you since we were both babes. If you have something on your mind then say it.”

Pelle sighs as if he is the one being put upon and this isn’t exactly where he wanted them to land. “How else am I meant to broach the topic of your choice in sacrifice? You only brought one man. You know the elders will not be pleased.”

“It was out of my control,” Ingemar says, terse. “My original third ended up getting a job last minute.”

Pelle raises an infuriatingly mild eyebrow. “You told me you had it handled when that happened.”

“As long as we reach nine sacrifices there should be no issue,” Ingemar responds.

“What will you do if the number is reached and you are still left with two women?”

Ingemar inhales sharply. His brother certainly knows how to press a weak spot like one would a bruise, but Ingemar has always been able to do the same and in far less words. “What will you do if you are left with none?”

Pelle looks at him sharply. “I won’t.”

“Then why do you think it necessary to doubt me instead?”

“I simply remember a certain someone sending me novels worth of messages about an annoying international student who kept diverting your plans.” He pauses to let this sink in as Ingemar becomes suddenly engrossed in looking at the path. “Only who do I see standing at your shoulder when we meet and then later laid comfortably across your lap?”

The sly yet curious bend to his voice is reminiscent of the comments Ingemar had gotten last night. First Ulla, then Niklas, who’d joked in Swedish at the sing-along that his match already had him wrapped around her finger. Ingemar quickly corrected the assumption but the amused looks cast his way continued until he eventually corralled her, half-asleep and clingy, into the tent she was sharing with Connie and Simon. Despite sleeping outside in the cool summer air he could still feel the heat of Saki’s body, her warm breaths tickling his stomach through his shirt.

“What was her name again?” Pelle tilts his head in a pantomime of Ingemar’s earlier playfulness during introductions. “... Saki?”

“I was only being a thoughtful host,” Ingemar says defensively. “She’s already wary of substances, a bad trip is going to convince her to mistrust anything else we give her.”

“Hm.” The sound is heavy with judgement.

“How about we talk about your elephant in the room—your match seems to be just as attached as mine.”

Pelle’s resulting scowl mars his impartial facade. “At least mine isn’t engaged.”

“At least I’ve indicated my romantic interest,” Ingemar returns. “Dani just thinks of you as one of her shitty boyfriend’s friends.”

They both remember where they are then at Ingemar’s uptick in volume. A glance back reveals their sacrifices talking amongst themselves, none the wiser. Silence descends and leaves each of them to stew in annoyance. Pelle has always been the model child, only ever made dirty by Ingemar’s hand. Although born just days apart their stars and their dispositions were a study in contrasts. He was impulsive, fickle in comparison to Pelle’s easy steadfastness. Beloved despite his many mistakes—never a day passed without a hand patting his head of riotous curls or squeezing his cherub cheeks as they stretched into a grin—while Pelle was loved because he didn’t make any. If Pelle were to be caught with powdered sugar from stolen kitchen sweets on his fingers, to have tripped in the mud trying to catch a glimpse of their sisters bathing, it could easily be traced back to Ingemar’s influence. This year away from Hälsingland, from the family was meant to show that he, too, could be competent. He could bring newbloods for the pyre and the village. Prove his place.

Of course, Pelle beats him to apologizing. “I’m sorry. I spoke too soon, I shouldn’t meddle in your affairs.”

“And I apologize for speaking in anger.” Ingemar sets his gaze ahead on the gate emerging into view. Just seeing the edge of that yellow archway truly confirms it. They’re almost home. “The certainty you feel about Dani? Is how I also feel about Connie.”

Pelle dips his head in acknowledgement, but can’t help himself from one last question, ever the worried older brother, “And your add-on?”

Ingemar grimaces. “I’ll deal with Grandmother Siv when I get to it.”

—

Simon comes back to where their two groups have settled onto mats on the grass with two beers, one of which he hands to Connie. She raises her glass to him with a grateful, “Thanks, babe,” before taking a sip. He didn’t ask Saki or Ingemar if they’d wanted one. Saki turns over this thought with more bitterness than is probably warranted. It seems today is made up of various ignorances from her and Ingemar acting like last night’s embarrassment didn’t happen to the usual self-absorption of their resident happy couple. Simon settles down cross-legged beside Connie and watches the snaking line of villagers as they dance past.

“What are the kids playing?” Simon asks.

“Skin the fool,” Ingemar responds.

Connie laughs a little in discomfort. “ _Skin_ the fool?”

“Precious,” Simon says sarcastically. He presses a kiss to Connie’s arm, then her lips before Saki looks away. She notices Ingemar staring at them with a sour expression—his poker face seems to have gotten weaker the longer they’ve been here.

“It’s not as bad as you’re both making it out to be.” Saki chides Simon and Connie half-heartedly as she also finds her gaze drawn to the revelry. The majestic Hårga, as Pelle called them, are like something out of a quaint Swedish postcard in their lush idyllic surroundings and bedecked in simple white frocks, beautiful stitching lining their hems or collars. Even the flute music that greeted them upon arrival sounded straight out of those cartoon heavens scenes she’d see on TV as a kid. Her mouth holds onto the bitter tang of whatever they drank at the fire ceremony. It burned going down, like the heat of the flame in the matriarch’s grasp. Pelle and Ingemar called her Grandmother Siv when they greeted her afterwards, heads bowed too low for her to only be a family member.

Saki hears a soft thud and looks up to see a red-headed girl lift her foot from kicking—Christian, was it?—in the side.

“Hey, Pelle, can anybody participate?” he asks, barely waiting for an answer before he, along with two other American men, join in.

Saki finds herself looking after them longingly. The music subtly pulls at her, causes her fingers to tap restlessly. She can’t remember the last time she danced without the cover of a dimly lit room or alcohol’s boundless confidence. As she searches for anything else to occupy her, her eyes, as always, are compelled to rest on Connie and Simon like a favorite bruise. Their faces are bent close together as they talk, off in their own world. One she’s been on the outside of for months. Maybe this is just her how her life is, drifting aimlessly across the globe, looking on as others find people or places to belong to. When will she have a world to retreat into that isn’t only inhabited by herself? She rises to her feet as if under a spell. It’s only when she’s standing on the edge of the line and looking for an opening does doubt take root. She’s never had much luck inserting herself into groups. The task of entering a new playground hierarchy was the most stressful part of every move. By the time she actually made friends, they were far too old for the childhood games she’d sat on the sidelines of.

Saki feels that same smallness now of being the one thing that doesn’t belong. However, she doesn’t dwell on this long as an arm suddenly emerges and grabs her by the hand. As she is dragged in she quickly takes the hand in front of her to keep the dancers connected. Somehow her feet are able to stay under her while she fumbles her first steps. Once skipping in rhythm, Saki turns her head to see her savior. It turns out to be a blonde, round-faced girl, around her age, with a braid down to her waist.

The girl grins at her sunnily. “Hallå hallå!”

“Um, hello?” Saki says.

The girl laughs. “My apologies,” she says, her voice almost musical in its accented English. “I am Karin! You are my brother Ingemar’s friend, yes?”

Saki doubts Ingemar would refer to her as such but nods anyway. “I was a little nervous to just shove myself in, especially coming in late.”

“All are welcome in our customs. We are very happy to have you here.” The line begins to turn, a trill rising up from the front, and Saki manages to follow along with ease. Forced into staring forward once more, she searches for another topic of conversation. Something about Karin’s disarming openness makes Saki want to talk to her more. She settles indicating her gratitude one last time and turns her head again.

“I still want to thank you though.” Saki pauses, trying to get the shape of her name right. “Karin. Did I say it correctly?”

Karin’s eyes light up. “Your pronunciation is so close! Do you have experience with Swedish?”

“No, no. I’m only fluent in two languages, English is my second, and I studied a third in grad school. I want to work in translation.”

“Amazing,” Karin gushes. “My English is not so perfect. I studied in France during pilgrimsfärd—pilgrimage.” She corrects herself with a charmingly self-deprecating smile.

“I think your English is really good. Since you went to France does that mean you’re fluent in French?” Saki asks, lifting her arms to go along with the crowd.

Karin tilts her head curiously. “Before it is forgotten. What is your name?”

“Oh, right.” Now it’s Saki’s turn to laugh at her own blunder. “My name is—”

“Saki!”

She misses a step at the shout and Karin’s hand tightens on hers, keeping her from falling face-first for the second time in twenty four hours. There, back at the mats, Simon and Connie and Ingemar are standing up. Connie waves a hand in the air and makes a come over motion. Saki can’t tell what Connie is mouthing so energetically but takes it for the cue that it is. She disentangles herself somewhat reluctantly, letting go of Karin last. The gap Saki leaves is closed almost instantly and fills her with a strange sense of unfinishedness.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Saki says, disappointed.

Karin only nods understandingly. As the line keeps going forward, sweeping her along with it, she calls out a cheerful, “Hej så länge!” Then Karin is lost in the moving sea of fluttering white cloth.

When Saki returns, she finds the American men in various states of exhaustion. Meanwhile she feels energized, ready to explore, and the rest of their two groups appear to agree as a tour of the village begins. Saki takes in the charmingly rustic buildings while Pelle and Ingemar field mind-numbingly boring questions from the anthropologists. A small group of children sit in a circle around a teacher copying what seems to be an alphabet. Rather than comment on their cuteness, Christian merely looks disinterested at Pelle’s explanation that the children dream of the runes powers. Josh’s annoyance soon afterward at being wrong about the kind of Futhark used on a stone furthers her suspicions. The fault lines between Pelle’s group are visible from a mile away. Dani, like her, is an interloper to what she assumes was to be a boys’ trip. But unlike her, it appears all of them didn’t want Dani here rather than just one person. The unspoken tension is killing her. Saki can’t help but try to smooth things out, chiming in with benign commentary during tense or awkward lulls.

When Christian asks how her, Simon, Connie, and Ingemar met in a desperate bid to distract from forgetting his own anniversary, Saki decides to take pity on him. “Well... I met Simon first. I ended up in an Environmental Studies course for diversification credit and he thanked me for saving him from drowning in a pool of his own vomit during orientation.”

“Pool of vomit?” Connie asks, amused.

Simon rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “I might have downplayed how drunk I was that night. Not my finest moment.”

“All of us, except for Saki, worked at the same farm,” Ingemar says. “Funny enough I was dating Connie when Simon and me first became pals.”

Connie looks confused, Simon’s eyes narrowing, as she replies, “Well, we’d been on _a_ date. And I didn’t even actually know it was a date so.”

Ingemar backtracks, expression a shade off from sheer panic. “You’re right. No, no. I meant that Connie and me had just become friends.” He gestures between himself and Connie stiltedly. “We—we decided to be friends. And that was just before Simon and Connie started dating.” He smiles with reluctance as he adds, “And now they’re engaged.”

“What? Congratulations!” Dani is the first to exclaim.

Ingemar tacks on a lukewarm congratulations while Saki stifles laughter. Her own congratulations comes out far more happy than she feels because of it. He’s really not trying anymore is he, she thinks. She wonders when, or if, she’ll do the same.

“Thanks. We actually asked Ingemar to officiate the wedding,” Simon says.

“Really?” Dani asks.

Simon shakes his head. “Nah.”

No one laughs. Before the silence can become suffocating, Pelle offers to show his friends where their sleeping quarters are while Ingemar takes Saki, Connie, and Simon to see the Rotvälta. Connie regains use of her limbs once more to let go of Simon’s hand to walk beside Saki. Connie gives her a friendly shoulder nudge and Saki musters a smile back. The upcoming engagement is now a weight in her mind five minutes after they finished talking about it. Trudging along in the back, Simon says, “So we’re just gonna ignore the bear then?”

Ingemar gives him a blank look. “It’s a bear.”

“What’s that?” Connie cuts in, pointing at a large hanging tapestry strung up on a clothing line.

Everyone changes direction to head towards where Connie pointed once Ingemar says they can check it out. Connie is in the lead and is the first to slow down with her eyes wide. As Saki also walks around the black-bordered edge she sees why Connie stopped. Before them a gorgeously drawn, most definitely hand-made and possibly hand stitched, tableau unfolds in vibrant color. The first panel shows a girl with hearts for eyes staring longingly at a boy on a bench. A story begins to unfold: the girl gathers flowers in a large field while walking backwards, the girl lays the flowers under her pillow and dreams of the boy at their wedding, the girl squats over a cup in the kitchen as menstrual blood flows from her, the girl snips off pubic hair to mix in a batter, and then the inevitable happy ending occurs after the boy imbibes both drink and food. His eyes turn into spirals and the last panel is him kissing the now pregnant girl at their wedding.

“Wait,” Simon says, disgust building in his voice. “Is she dripping period blood into his drink?”

“How do you think I nailed _you_ down?” Connie jokes.

“Are only girls able to cast a love spell?” Saki asks.

Ingemar raises an eyebrow, surprised at her astuteness. “No. Men can also create love potions. The steps are the same, they just use a… different liquid.”

Simon makes a horrified face while Connie cackles at his expression. Saki just stares, entranced, drawn to the insane amount of detail given to all thirteen panels. Some parts may be unsettling or archaic to their cosmopolitan sensibilities but how evolved are they really in their own traditions. People hiding teeth under their pillows for a supposedly benevolent yet unseen being to collect is hardly any different.

Connie raises her arms above her head, yawning. “Sorry, Ingemar I think I’m going to head back. I’m a bit knackered.” She looks up at Simon dolefully. “I might be too tired to even walk.”

Simon sighs good-naturedly before turning to Ingemar. “How do we get to where we’re staying?”

“Just keep walking straight and you can’t miss it.” Ingemar’s smile is brittle. “The doors will be open so you can see if my brother or his friends are inside.”

“Thanks, mate.”

Simon lifts a giggling Connie up onto his back, her arms loosely crossed on his neck, and then they’re off. The silence that falls in their wake is eerily similar to the one that happened in a dim kitchen a lifetime ago. How little things really do change, Simon and Connie are just as disgustingly in love and Saki doesn’t truly know the man standing beside her no matter what they may have in common. Except this time, Ingemar is the one to break the quiet.

“Do you still want to see the Rotvälta?” he asks. His tone isn’t the most enthused but it’s also not overtly hostile.

“Lead the way.”

—

This trip has been the longest Saki and Ingemar have spent alone together in all the time they’ve known each other. She can barely recall what they did in the scant few moments Connie and Simon weren’t there—either a few minutes late to a study session or returning from the bathroom at a party—to act as a social buffer. She agreed to see the Rotvälta on a whim, not wanting to bear more witness to the happy couple. However, after making suitably impressed noises at the triangle-shaped structure they saw, the odd pair were now making their way to the sleeping quarters in silence.

“You don’t have to walk me back,” Saki says.

Ingemar smiles benignly at her. “I wouldn’t be a very good host if I left you to fend for yourself.” Saki looks at him suspiciously for a beat before he chuckles, hands raised in surrender. “Alright, alright, you’ve dragged it out of me. I just have a question.”

Dread fills Saki as she suddenly remembers why she’d been avoiding Ingemar today. “What is it?”

“Do you really see right through me?” Ingemar asks, lowering his voice in mock seriousness.

Saki studiously avoids his gaze. “I was very, very high when I said that.”

“The mushrooms don’t really make people say things they don’t mean,” he says. “They lower your defenses, open you up in a sense.”

“Open us for what?”

“It’s one in a series of little purifications to get rid of ‘bad vibes,’ as you’d call them, before we come home to celebrate. Just something silly my family believes in. But that’s not what we were talking about, was it?”

Saki begins walking faster, but Ingemar barely has to change his unhurried stride to keep up.“We weren’t talking about anything.”

He’s just enough ahead of her in speed to turn around and walk backwards as he asks, “Why are you so opposed to letting on that you hold even a single negative thought about me?”

“That’s because I’m a nice person,” she says curtly. “I don’t only act like I am to get my way.”

“So you never act in a certain way to get a desired outcome? You don’t ever omit things or, dare I say, lie to people for their own good?”

Saki shakes her head. “I never said that.”

“Oh, but when you do it it’s to be _nice_ , right?” Ingemar’s grin is sweetly derisive. Her heart thumps unsteadily at the sight.

She casts him an annoyed look, causing his grin to widen. “What do you mean? I am nice.”

“Uh huh,” he says with an insulting amount of skepticism.

“I am!” Saki doesn’t mean to lose her temper, but she feels as if Ingemar is peeling her apart, unearthing something she’s never faced head on before.

“Yes, yes, you’re a nice person, I don’t want to ruffle any feathers.” He holds up both hands in a self-defensive gesture.

“You’re not. Ruffling my feathers, I mean.”

Ingemar is now keeping pace right beside her, their shoulders nearly brushing. “I’m just saying—”

“Maybe you should say less.”

“Well, I still think no matter the intention,” Ingemar says, gazing straight ahead, “choosing your words or emotions to get people to react in ways _you_ consider best isn’t much different from me. You want something, too, I’m just more honest about it.”

“You’re not even that honest,” Saki argues. “Connie and Simon have no clue about any of this.”

“Then why haven’t you told them?”

Saki frowns, silent, proving his point. A large two-story building rises in front of them so tall it nearly blots out the cloudless blue sky. The grand doors are flung open to reveal moving person-sized shapes and what seem to be neatly arranged beds, too far to be seen clearly yet. Faintly she can hear the cry of a baby coming from inside, along with the chatter of multiple conversations going on at once.

His gaze feels a little too knowing, a little too heavy. “What’s most important is that I’m honest with myself. Are you?”

“I’m going inside now.”

As she walks off, Ingemar calls out, non-threateningly playful once more, “You can’t run away from the truth!”

Saki flips him off, only to immediately clap a hand to her mouth in horrified shock. “Oh my God. I…”

Ingemar stares back at her, his own mouth hanging open, before he dissolves into helpless laughter. Saki rushes inside the open doors with embarrassment staining her cheeks. Why did she just do that? No wonder Ingemar has been teasing her so much lately, she’s just proven how easy she is to rile up. The man obviously gets off on making people uncomfortable if his first impression is anything to go off of. Saki barely takes in the murals and symbols painted on nearly every available inch of pale wood as she searches for Connie and Simon, mind racing. They’re tucked into a corner opposite from the Americans who seem to be engaged in a rowdy argument while Dani picks at her quilt quietly. Pelle gazes at Dani for a long moment before turning back to whatever the conversation is. As Saki makes her way over to the couple, Connie says excitedly, “Take the bed next to mine.”

Saki hesitates, certain Ingemar will want to sleep next to Connie, before laying down on the bedspread anyway in a fit of pettiness.

—

Saki watches in the blue-tinged dark in an empty field just a couple kilometers from the main house as villagers drag wood to a great big bonfire pit. In a spiral shape smaller wooden bundles are piled together standing up, surrounded by little stone formations. She can’t tell what time it is, a combination of the disorienting near twenty-four-hour sunlight and being awoken from sleep for an event that was barely explained as she was ushered outside. Dani hovers near Saki and Connie, obviously shut out, as the boys pepper Ingemar and Pelle with questions of varying academic merit considering Mark’s occasional vulgar disruptions. He’d tried to chat Saki up on their hike to the festival grounds but she easily steered him back to his friends with a conversation about ticks. If she hadn’t listened to Connie, her bed would have been next to Mark’s and she shudders to think of sleeping next to the obnoxious American. When Dani directs another glance in her direction Saki smiles and Dani returns it, but fails to see it as the invitation it is. Simon then moves into Saki’s line of sight, looking bored, and blocks Dani from view.

A clap rings out across the field. Siv stands regally in front of the gathered crowd, and strikes a match from a box. It looks incongruous in its modernity surrounded as it is by a peoplemoutside of time. Siv projects her voice, in powerful and commanding Swedish, before she lights a long stick with the match. When she places its burning end on the bonfire, flames leap to life from the touch.

Applause follows her, rising in volume as a man takes the long stick and slowly brings it to light each bundle of wood.

Saki, Connie, and Simon must look lost while the field is awash in the glow of multiple flames because Ingemar walks over and says, “Sorry, I forgot to explain this to you. The first evening of Midsommar we wake up in the night and jump over fire to burn away impurities until the sun rises.”

“Impurities?” Connie asks.

Simon’s eyebrows rise to his hairline. “Jumping over _fire_?”

“No, no, no. It’s not dangerous at all.” Ingemar waves his hands, dispelling their concerns. “Look,” he says, pointing to a young child who, face screwed in adorable concentration, hops over a tiny cluster of burning sticks to happy cheers, an older woman steadying his wobbly landing with a gentle hand. “See? We jump over the smaller fires, not the big one in the middle. They’re all different sizes for difficulty level but never too much. It’s more of a symbolic gesture than anything.”

“Is the fire just to cleanse people?” Saki says.

“The bonfire also wards off evil spirits, kind of like the torch thing when you all arrived,” Ingemar explains. His eyes dance with an excited light, despite the wry twist of his mouth, as if he doesn’t fully believe in all of this fanfare. “Whoever jumps the highest gets good luck for the rest of the year. Supposedly it’s because the person has released the heaviest burdens of the past year, causing them to be lighter.”

Music rises up then, cresting over them in a wave of sound.

Gone is the soothing tones of flutes and instead a heady rhythm led by fiddles takes their place. Saki’s blood seems to pump in time with the music as what might be an accordion joins the fray.  
Her feet begin to tap without her permission, the urge to dance far stronger this time, thrumming through her like an electric current. The villagers are flashes of blinding white as they lose themselves in jumping and jogging and laughing.

“This looks cool and all, mate,” Simon says with a nod at their surroundings. “But I dunno if I’ll participate. I like all my bits unburnt.”

“Oh, live a little,” Connie chides.

“ _Living_ is the point of me not participating, love.”

Connie rolls her eyes before grabbing Simon by the neckline of his shirt and using it to drag him away, all while saying, “Don’t worry we’ll do a baby fire. Let’s go to the one where all the kids are.”

Once again, Saki and Ingemar are left behind staring at Simon and Connie’s backs.

“Don’t start,” Saki warns.

Ingemar’s face ripples in surprise before he laughs a little. “Start what?”

“That.” Saki gestures at Ingemar’s general person. “Whatever you’re doing right now.”

He puts on an exaggeratedly pitiful expression. “You know, you really hurt my feelings earlier.”

Despite the obvious falsity to his sadness, Saki can’t help the churn of guilt in her stomach. She’s always prided herself on being the nice one of whatever equation she’s in. The sympathetic ear, the shoulder to cry on, the girl who may not be the most outspoken or the most vivacious, but is at least remembered for her comforting kindness. Once, in high school, while taking one of those online quizzes that asked silly questions like what kind of food are you, Saki got plain white rice as her food. Boring yet well-liked. Of course, her friends nearly died laughing at the results. But to Saki it was easier than standing out, than being ostracized. Not even Simon ever really saw behind her veil despite the many times she’d come to home in the devastating aftermath of her mother’s death. How Ingemar had cracked the code to shake her defenses so profoundly was an infuriating mystery.

A tray laden with clear long-stemmed glasses lowers to their eye-level, disrupting Saki’s inner turmoil. Carrying it is Pelle, who smiles pleasantly at her and Ingemar. “Either of you care for a drink?” he asks, jerking his chin at the American already drinking from their own cups. “My friends enjoyed our snaps so much I didn’t want you to miss out. It’s a spice- and herb-infused vodka we make ourselves.”

Saki frowns. “Vodka? That sounds a bit strong.”

“It goes down very smoothly,” Pelle assures her. “The amount in this glass is nowhere near enough to cause any… unwanted side effects.”

Pelle picks a drink up by the stem with two fingers and extends it towards Saki. Not wanting to seem rude she accepts it, watching the golden liquid swish inside warily. Pelle casts a meaningful look at Ingemar. Ingemar snatches a glass off the tray and throws back his snaps, almost annoyedly, Adam's apple bobbing distractingly with the motion. Her eyes dart away, only to catch Pelle’s, who holds her gaze for an uncomfortably long moment. His eyes crinkle and then return to the festivities. Saki tries to follow along but feels off-kilter, like there’s something she’s missing in the tense set of Ingemar’s shoulders or Pelle’s placid smiles. For lack of anything better to do, she downs the snaps, which turns out to be the smoothest thing she’s ever drank. Her tongue tingles from the spices and warmth trickles down her throat.

“It’s good, yes?” Pelle states more than asks. When Saki nods a little too enthusiastically, Pelle’s stare drifts towards Ingemar before focusing on her again. “Would you like more?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

The next drink goes down easier than the last, Saki even finds herself licking the last droplets off her lips. When she remembers herself, she quickly looks up to see if anyone caught her being so greedy but Pelle and Ingemar both seem absorbed in the circle starting up around the main bonfire. Ingemar is rubbing his palms against his white linen pants while Pelle crosses his arms over his chest. The circle begins to move in a rhythmic fashion as an even faster beat starts up.

“Oh, another dance?” Saki asks, unable to hide the excitement in her voice.

Pelle’s mouth quirks as he shoots her a curious glance. “Yes. If you want you can join in.”

“I don’t really know the steps.”

“You don’t need to, it’s a very simple dance. Even my uncoordinated friends can follow along.”

Saki looks to see what seems to be Mark and Josh dancing clumsy yet in the thick of things. Automatically, she locates Dani, having a tense conversation with Christian far off from the fun.

“Okay, you’re right.” Saki steels herself, turns to Ingemar and asks without thinking, “Will you be alright on your own?” It’s more habit from navigating parties with mostly women than actual concern but Ingemar’s eyes widen in surprise and he nods. “Um, good then. I’ll see you later.”

“One more snaps for courage?” Pelle offers, tone light and teasing.

Saki giggles and shakes her head _no_. Then, she stops to think about it. “Just a sip,” she says, which of course turns into a gulp that leaves the glass empty. Ingemar looks somewhat disapproving and Saki rolls her eyes which elicits a chuckle from Pelle. As Saki makes her way towards the center, heat caressing her sides from the many roaring flames, a pounding begins in her chest and a haze creeps over her thoughts. The vodka must be hitting her, she thinks, right as she’s consumed whole by a wild dance.

Saki doesn’t know how long she spends going in circles around the bonfire, bright orange sparks flying behind her eyelids, occasionally she thinks she spins by her friends—Connie executing a tiny hop over a fire, trying to get an unenthused Simon to stop nursing his stein of beer and join in, Ingemar’s impish features bathed in warm tones as he twirls laughing girls around—but she can’t tell if they’re really there. Everyone feels like her friend right now. Every time she is uncertain of the next step or stumbles after a jump, there is someone to guide her, to steady her, to grab her by the hand and spin her until her feet are leaping right over a fire like it’s second nature. Her mind has been wiped clean, just as Ingemar said, every petty worry or concern burned away by the fire. But a glimmer of _something_ tells her that it’s not enough. There’s something else she has to give to the fire to burn. What is it though? What is her heaviest burden?

Embers suddenly leap out at Saki, and she trips backwards.

The neat teepee-style of the bonfire has collapsed in a shower of sparks. However, instead of it signalling the end of the night, raucous cheers erupt all around Saki, and a man with a long shovel moves the wood until it’s sideways, still merrily burning away. There are much less logs than before as if they’ve burned down over hours, leaving basically a mound not even up to her knees. Saki’s heart stops when she sees a figure run towards the fire. They can’t possibly mean to… A gasp gets tangled in her throat as the person jumps. Suspended in the air for a heart-stopping, they clear even the stones of the fire pit once they land on the other side. Applause rings out across the clearing and the seal is apparently broken as more people brave the bonfire.

Once the tenth person jumps with no issues is when Saki realizes. That’s it. In order to rid herself of this amorphous not-enough feeling she has to jump over the bonfire. The little bundles she’d been jumping over couldn’t possibly be strong enough to burn it. Clarity descends on her, sharpening her senses as she walks up to the edge of the bonfire. A stillness ripples through the villagers when they notice what she intends to do. Faintly, as if underwater, she thinks she hears her name being called but she ignores it as she backs up and then launches herself across the bonfire. Beautifully weightless, she _floats_ over, legs tucked underneath her, the heat of the fire a warm tickle on her calves. She has finally let go. She feels as light as the wind, lighter and freer than she ever felt even as a child, her anxiety around acceptance and conformity a constant pit in her stomach. But now she doesn’t have to worry about any of that. It feels like she’ll never worry again. Saki lands on the other side laughing, the sound swallowed up and given back to her by the villagers, who all crowd her in jubilant congratulation, hugging her and patting her on the back. The word “luck” keeps being thrown around mixed in with exclamations of Swedish that Saki just smiles and nods at.

Simon and Connie suddenly carve their way through her adoring crowd. Oh, Simon, she thinks. The slope of his strong brow is furrowed in concern. As the couple take Saki to task for her recklessness, wondering at her obvious drunkenness, Saki searches her brain and finds an absence. There was something about Simon that is— _was_ —important to her. It also made her unbearably sad. Saki brushes them off with a laugh and heads over to another dance starting up again. There’s a lot of elaborate skirt swishing that Saki watches in awe. Whatever she forgot about Simon must not have been that important. What’s important is that the _something_ is gone, burned into ash at the bottom of the bonfire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I’m a city girl who has never experienced a bonfire? LMAO. Apologies to outdoorsy folks who are just like wtf at this bonfire. Fire hopping _is_ a real part of some countries' celebration of midsummer though. And sorry to Dani fans for the light roasting, Ingemar is biased and if you follow astrology at all Cancers do have a reputation for being overemotional wet blankets. It’s all in good fun! 
> 
> The songs referenced in the chapter title “Fireside” by Arctic Monkeys and “Boyish” by Japanese Breakfast. “Boyish” tone-wise perfectly captures the resigned bitterness Saki and Ingemar have towards their unrequited romantic situations and each other. One particular line inspired the title of this fic: _And all of my devotion turns violent_. It's very Ingemar imo. “Fireside” is an obvious reference to the bonfire plus the lyrics are about struggling to move on from someone you love even if it's the right thing to do.
> 
> It’s been a struggle organically incorporating the main cast and Pelle kind of just happened near the end there. You can probably already tell but Pelle is being so nice to Saki to underhandedly annoy the hell out of Ingemar––which also sends a strong message to Ingemar considering Pelle's barely even greeted Connie. I swear the part where Ingemar and Saki actually like each other is coming, Ingemar just won't stop being insufferable. 
> 
> So, the conflict I haven’t tagged yet is about to come about in the next chapter, which is aptly titled Tension. Saki/Ingemar is still endgame. I needed something to cause problems and I got very attached to this character. While I’m A+ at emotionally scarring and/or ruining lives in my own stories it seems I’m not as creative when it comes to someone else’s sandbox. I’m so used to using the supernatural to create conflict that I’m already struggling to come up with all these damn rituals. I’m half-tempted to throw in some Pagan folk magic as padding LOL. Hope y'all enjoyed the chapter it only took me about another month ha.


	3. Tension (Interlude)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side B — In Between Plans. Music provided this chapter by BØRNS and Your Smith respectively.

Saki wakes to an empty room. Her eyes dart around in the stillness, soft light streaming through the windows, illuminating just how alone she is. It’s only spotting the half-opened bags and strewn about clothes that settle her creeping sense of abandonment somewhat. A rustle comes from two beds down.

“Hello?” Saki calls out shakily.

“God morgon!” Karin rises to her feet from behind a bed with a cheery wave. She has one side of an orange bedsheet in her hand. “I volunteered to make all the guests' beds to maintain neatness.”

“Oh. Um, where did everyone go?”

Karin tucks in the corners with military precision while humming. “They all went to breakfast. You were a bit harder to wake. Since I was staying behind I offered to watch over you.”

“Thanks,” Saki says. “This is the second time you’re helping me.”

“I am happy to be of assistance, especially to our fire jumper.”

“Fire jumper?”

Saki tries to leverage herself onto her elbows, her stomach roiling with the motion. Karin tilts her head in concern. “Do you not remember? You jumped highest over the bonfire! You will have very good luck now,” she says, smiling. 

Memories of orange embers floating into the night sky and dancing until her whole body was one big ache rise like smoke in Saki’s mind’s eye. Yes, she _had_ jumped over a fire, hadn’t she? For a moment, the flames had seemed like an extension of her and getting burned hadn’t even seemed like a possibility. She had been so drunk, not only on the surprisingly strong alcohol, but on the infectious energy of the Hårgas that it had made her act not like herself at all. She doesn’t know if she feels any luckier, but she does feel… different. Lighter.

Karin interrupts her inner musing. “My apologies, you must still feel out of sorts. Let me get you a—hmm, I don’t know the English translation but it’s a sort of... hangover cure?" Her voice lilts up at the end in uncertainty but she brightens when Saki gives her a nod of confirmation that _yes, people say hangover cure_. 

Saki is already up and stretching her sore limbs by the time Karin returns with a ceramic mug full of a steaming, brown-ish liquid. She accepts the cup from Karin with a look of gratitude before sipping the concoction. She struggles to keep a straight face at its bitter, herb-y flavor. 

“It is not the best taste,” Karin laughs. “But very effective.” Saki can’t stop her tongue from sticking out after she finishes the drink and Karin laughs lightly again. “Do you wish to head to the showers?” 

“Showers?”

“I noticed you did not go yesterday. Usually it’s communal during the festival but you can take one alone now. Smoke especially leaves a strong scent.”

Saki sniffs herself, nose wrinkling. “That would be great actually.” 

The showers are an awkward, chilly affair. Despite the bright sun overhead, the wooden bath house is shadowed by a copse of trees and stands bare of any doors or coverings to shield potential bathers outside of its indoor paneling. Karin gamely turns aways, eyes covered by both hands, as Saki undresses haltingly inside. The icy water shocks a yelp out of her that almost sends Karin rushing inside before Saki can talk her down and then be verbally instructed on how to get the old-fashioned knobs to churn out warm water. By the end of her shower Saki barely has the patience to turn her hair into something presentable. The two french braids she’d easily done yesterday now seem impossible as her wet fingers keep slipping.

Karin reaches for Saki, turning her around by her shoulders. “I will help you. I noticed you like braids, yes?”

“Uh, yeah. But you really don’t have to—”

“Let me do this,” Karin insists. “I miss helping my sisters with their hair in the morning. They’ve all grown too old for it and the younger children have the caretakers.”

Saki’s remaining protestations melt once Karin begins to gently massage her scalp. Deft, light fingers weave through her hair with careful quickness. Not a single strand is pulled or tugged too harshly. The repetitiveness of Karin’s fingers moving through her hair lulls Saki into such a meditative state she doesn’t notice their absence. It’s only Karin’s excited clapping that causes Saki to open her eyes, surprised to be done.

Karin beams proudly. “You look so cute!” 

Saki touches her head, feeling along a crown french braid that twists into a tucked up bun at the nape of her neck. “I don’t know how to repay you for this.”

“You can join me in an activity later.” Karin gathers up Saki’s discarded clothes and begins walking off, Saki forced to focus on keeping up rather than refuse the help. “It’ll be a much lighter one after the heaviness of the morning.”

“Oh, Ingemar didn’t tell us we’d be doing something,” Saki says, confused.

“Really? He must have wanted it to be a surprise then,” Karin says breezily. 

Saki fiddles with a corner of her damp towel. “Are you sure hanging out with me will be enough?”

“Of course.” Karin’s face crumples in acute distress. “Do you not wish to? I apologize if I have been too presumptuous—”

“No, no, no,” Saki says, tripping over her words to backtrack. “ _I’m_ sorry. I’d love to do, um, whatever this activity is. You’ve been nothing but kind and welcoming.”

Karin perks up. “Then I will pick you up at the main house.” She pauses consideringly. “Tell me, how would you correctly pronounce your name? It is Saki. No?”

“Yes, but you don’t have to trouble yourself.” Saki waves off her attempt. “It’s only a nickname anyway.”

“Nickname? Then what is your full name?”

“Misaki.” The name feels foreign on her tongue, unused for over a year. Her mother was the only one to ever say it plainly, her father partial to all manner of nicknames and diminutives, and in her move to London she preferred to hear only two syllables butchered rather than three.

“How pretty!” Karin exclaims. “Misaki?” 

Saki shakes her head. “ _Misaki_ ,” she repeats.

“Misaki.”

Saki smiles apologetically. “Sorry.” Karin scowls, her frustration a cute contrast to her usual sunny disposition. “It’s really okay to quit,” Saki assures her.

“No, I will keep practicing,” Karin declares, “but first, we must make it to breakfast.” 

She gently pushes Saki forward with a nudge between her shoulder blades, indicating her to move faster, and the two do a half-jog across the dewy grass. Saki isn’t used to someone being this friendly to her with no effort on her part. Simon is probably the closest she’s come, extending the olive branch of friendship first, but he’d never been as attentive or just plain _nice_ as Karin. Connie certainly tried in her own way to befriend Saki. However, Connie’s scattered flightiness made their relationship surface-level at best, unable to put in the careful effort of wearing down Saki’s many defenses. Saki realizes now under the beam of a foreign sun that Simon, too, had never truly known her. She doesn’t know if she ever wanted him to. 

—

Ingemar eats without an appetite. His knife and fork scrape the plate mechanically, as if someone else is puppeting his leaden limbs. Pelle is thankfully too engrossed in stealing glances at his match to notice his brother’s unease. The Ättestupa is today and he has barely breathed a word about it to his guests. Ylva and Dan look transcendent, sitting at the head of the table in their respective wooden thrones, ready to be welcomed into the everything. Ingemar wishes he could feel the same calm as he casts a worried eye over his tributes.

Connie rubs at one eye tiredly as she talks with a bored Simon who picks at his food. Ingemar only got a glimpse of Saki this morning as she arrived at breakfast late, allowed to sleep in after how wild she ran last night. Simon ended up piggy-backing her to the Youth House, too exhausted to walk on her own and too drunk to appreciate her good fortune. Pelle was cheerfully unrepentant about his meddling as they walked behind while Saki waved happily at him and scowled at Ingemar. She certainly wasn’t making it easy to treat her as a mere sacrifice. After clearing the bonfire so naturally, her jumping form perfect in its jaw-dropping height and elegance, Ingemar had felt the expectant eyes of his family watching him. Even now he feels someone’s gaze. He raises his eyes to find the source only to see—Grandmother Siv. 

She holds his gaze meaningly, then subtly looks to the side, sending a simple message: _Excuse yourself from the table_. Ingemar rises with his heart in his throat and manages to extricate himself with minimal fuss. It’s only as he darts behind a building out of sight do his nerves show in his shaking hands. So far, he has kept from being alone with the matriarch. Pelle had served as a good buffer with his exceptional picks, ever the overachiever, and masked Ingemar’s inadequacies but now his luck is about to run out. 

Ingemar respectfully inclines his head once her familiar figure rounds the corner. “Good morning, Grandmother.”

“Good morning. I have instructed Karin to help you with your female newblood,” Grandmother Siv tells him. “She has a special touch when it comes to women and making them feel welcome.”

A vision of Connie and Karin laughing, thick as thieves, appears in his mind. Both friendly, gregarious people it stands to reason they’d get along. His sister has been the most successful of their generation at inducting people into their community. However, something about the image pings him with its wrongness, as ill-fitting as a shirt two sizes too small. 

“Thank you,” Ingemar says.

“Do not thank me yet,” Siv responds, voice stern. “You have not made enough inroads with your guests. And you’ve been purposefully avoiding me so you do not have to hear me say this. When have I ever given you reason to fear my opinion? Do you think you are the only one who has not done something perfectly on their first try?”

Ingemar doesn’t meet her eyes. He shakes his head _no_ , the admonishment stinging him like a child caught sneaking a pastry from the cookhouse. “Pelle always does,” he adds sullenly.

“Pelle is not as perfect as he would have you believe. You both have your own strengths and weaknesses.” Siv’s tone brooks no argument. “Do not waste any more time during the coming days comparing yourself to each other.” 

“Yes, Grandmother.”

Siv smiles at him kindly, no longer the scolding leader. “I will help you as much as I can. Let your heart and your instinct be your guide as Pelle’s intuition is for him.”

Ingemar nods. “I will.”

Siv pulls him into a firm embrace before sending him back to the table first. When she returns, only a moment or two after he sits, that serves as enough signal for the ceremony begins.

—

Of course, everything goes wrong mere moments later. 

Ingemar knows even before Ylva falls that Connie and Simon will not react well. He places a hand on Simon’s shoulder to calm him, feels Connie hold onto his sleeve in death grip as they gape in horror at the shattered remains on the rocks. Simon keeps repeating: “She’s dead! She’s fucking dead!” before he stops at the sight of Dan walking towards the cliff’s edge. Ingemar watches in horror as Connie and Simon begin to shout warnings, waving their hands around desperately. He rushes after them to quell the embarrassing disruption. However, that is when Grandmother Siv decides to step in to talk to the newbloods, giving special attention to Dani when the others balk. That could have been Connie, Ingemar thinks, pain lancing through his chest, following along with Siv’s words rather than turning away, her eyes brimming over with betrayal. 

He averts his gaze and lands on Saki, who is crying silently, tears rolling down her cheeks and glinting in the sunlight. She stands on the fringes of the shocked and distraught group. As everyone empties out from the canyon in orderly lines, Ingemar notes Saki slowing, drifting to the back until, once they reach the festival grounds, she breaks away unnoticed by any but him. He instinctively follows. She cuts a fast and winding path through the grounds as if possessed.

Finally, Saki collapses on a bench under a pink, flowering tree. A playful breeze comes to shake its branches and shower her in blossoms. She first bats them away in annoyance before giving up with a watery sigh, wiping at her damp eyes. It’s then he realizes her hair is braided in Hårgan fashion. The picture she makes, teary yet flower-adorned, disconcerts him, for she resembles nothing less than a forest goddess lifted straight from their myths. He blinks. The vision recedes, leaving once more the pining exchange student, fruitlessly enamored with Simon and his sarcastic self-absorption. 

He approaches her with caution, unable to shake the feeling he might be cursed for his intrusion.

“Saki?” Her shoulders tense but she doesn’t acknowledge him. He edges closer. “Saki? Are you alright?”

“Of course not,” she says, voice thick.

“Sorry. Stupid question.” Ingemar’s self-deprecating chuckle receives no reaction. “I wanted to apologize—”

“For what?”

He stops, caught off-guard. “Pardon?”

Saki raises her head to stare up at him. “What are you apologizing for?” 

“Um, well, I,” he says, floundering, his half-formed, off-the-cuff words leaving him in the space of a breath. “I just thought you were owed an apology for—for what you just witnessed, with no preparation. It was—short-sighted of me. Callous.” She needs only to level him with a look before he folds. “That’s not it either. I was worried, okay? Of all this,” he gestures around them, “happening once you saw the Ättestupa. I’m sorry I let my feelings get in the way of doing what’s right. I knew I should’ve said something, should’ve prepared you all better. It’s supposed to be about celebrating the cycle of life and of being called home. I fucked up. Sorry.”

Silence unspools between them, winding around him tighter and tighter each second it goes on.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” she says grudgingly. “Sit down.”

He scrambles to follow the directive and settles on the bench a respectable distance from her. 

As they sit in a far less tense silence, he studies Saki’s profile discreetly. She never reacts how he expects. Back in the meadow, she had flared bright in righteous anger and now she was as placid as the still waters of an ice-ringed lake. There are tears, he sees their evidence on her face, yet her expression speaks not of unfiltered distress but of vague blankness. Is it dissociation or her usual repression at work? He wonders. His thumb is already tracing a dried tear track down her cheek before he realizes what he’s doing. Saki’s eyes widen but she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away.

“Why are you here, Ingemar?” she asks him. 

He furrows his brow in confusion. “Where else would I be?” 

That isn’t the right answer it seems. Saki knocks his hand aside none-too-gently. “With Connie.”

“Oh.” The ache of rejection makes itself known once again, as if irritated at being forgotten.

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” she says. Her tone is almost back to normal, slightly teasing as she continues, “She’s only the girl you’ve been obsessing over for the past year.”

“I could say the same about you and Simon,” Ingemar responds in kind only to notice her hesitance, “or have things changed without my knowing?”

For some reason, he really wants to hear her answer and finds himself leaning closer. 

“I’m just not so certain anymore,” Saki admits lowly.

“Certain of what?”

“...That I like Simon.”

Ingemar can’t keep the incredulousness off his face nor can he stifle the strange sense of relief blooming within his chest. She subtly shrinks from him, possibly misinterpreting his surprise as judgement, and he rushes to assure her before he asks his burning question. “Can I ask what brought about the change of heart?”

“Why do you care? It’s not like we’ve ever talked much before.”

He frowns, frustrated at her resistance, insanely suspicious of his attempts at niceness, uncannily able to identify them for the probes that they are. But he is starting to realize the challenge only spurs him on more. 

“C’mon.” He spreads his hands out and puts on his most exaggerated guileless expression. “I’m the least likely person to judge you.” 

Saki stares at him for a beat, then two, before sighing. “Fine,” she says. “It was at the bonfire. I don’t know how to describe it.” Ingemar waits her out, sure that if he offers any way out she will take it, will deflect and obscure her true feelings. “I can’t tell if it was the shots your brother gave me or… something else.”

A flash of memory hits Ingemar, sending a jolt of heat through him. Saki, pink tongue out, chasing any lingering moisture on her lips. The beauty mark under her mouth especially eye-catching at that moment. She was so defenseless to Pelle’s tricks in a way she’d never been with Ingemar. What he still can’t figure out is the _why_ of Pelle’s meddling. He hardly spoke a word to Connie yet there he was feigning solicitousness to a girl meant to be nothing but fuel for the pyre.

“It was like the bonfire was burning up every doubt or worry I’ve ever had. Every time I jumped over it, I wanted to be lighter. As if the fire knew I wasn’t giving it everything that weighed me down.” She exhales heavily, asks rhetorically, “I sound crazy, don’t I? I gave the bonfire the biggest worry I could think of in the moment: my feelings for Simon. That’s when I jumped for the last time. I didn’t think about him the rest of the night. I barely even remembered him this morning.”

“I think you simply adhered to the purpose and spirit of the ceremony,” Ingemar says. 

“Really?”

“Yes.” Her sweet face is turned upwards to him, snub nose crinkled in thought. He is overcome with the urge to do—something. He shakes his head to dispel it. “What do you think of Sweden so far? Are you adjusting to the food and sleeping well?” He falls back into the comforting guise of attentive host. 

There, a tentative conversation unfolds where he learns more about Saki’s likes and dislikes than almost a year of knowing each other with the specter of Connie-and-Simon hanging over them.

It’s only after the third question does it strike Ingemar—he is asking her the same things he asked Connie, a lifetime ago at a warm, golden-lit pub, drinking her in across a scratched, wooden high table. He tries to squash the thought, stricken. He can’t go down that path. He tries to focus back on Saki’s words as she elaborates, in her careful way, on a childhood that seems solitary and lonely no matter what she conceals. Her attachment to the outside world has always been tenuous, snapped permanently after the death of both parents, a fact Ingemar had merely nodded sympathetically to when Simon told him, reminded of Pelle’s loss and nothing more. 

His eyes sweep her body unconsciously, more evidence piling up before him. Saki has always preferred dresses over pants in her midi-length pinafores and skirts under oversized sweaters. Even now, with the hiking portion of their trip done, she is in a tiered maxi dress. Connie once said Saki dressed like both an elementary school teacher and a grandma, Saki ducking her head in embarrassment at the joke. Ingemar can easily transpose her into the white dresses of Midsommar or the darker red, blue, and green of Vetrnætr. Her hair is obviously the work of one of his sisters, the style suiting her well but who— _Karin_. The newblood being welcomed wasn’t Connie. Ingemar curses his grandmother’s plotting, for her earlier reassurances are now cast in a different light. 

“What are you thinking about?” Saki asks.

Ingemar is torn from his conflicted inner musings. “I’m thinking about Connie,” he replies, the truth slipping out far too easily. “I’ve come to a similar conclusion as you. If she were actually for me, I would already have her.” 

Saki’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “Really? But you’ve worked so hard! And you even brought her to your childhood home.”

“You seem more affected by this news than I am,” Ingemar says with a laugh.

“I don’t mean to overstep. I’m just surprised,” Saki says. “When did you know?”

He sobers. “Today if I’m being honest. Her reaction to the ceremony only confirmed my fears. My family is very important and I would like someone who will fit in with us. That can partake in, or at least be tolerant of, our customs.” Unwittingly, his mind provides a memory of Saki dancing arm in arm with his family last night. “Not to mention she has a fiancé. Turned out to be a bigger hurdle than expected,” he says wryly.

Saki comfortingly touches Ingemar’s hand where it rests on his knee. 

“At least you went after what you wanted,” she says with a rueful smile. “You didn’t hide and wait like I did.”

He studies her small hand against his. They're a smooth brown. Her fingernails are tiny, neat ovals. Cute, yet well-maintained. Just like the rest of her. Ingemar will ask her one last question. Then he will cast aside this crazy line of thinking, devote himself to Connie’s preparation and aiding in bringing Saki in as a sister. Nothing else.

Ingemar’s heart rate picks up. “When is your birthday again?”

Saki takes back her hand to pluck a flower from her lap and rubs its smooth petals absentmindedly. “October 8th—I’m turning 26 this year. We first met right after it had passed actually. Why do you ask?”

“My family is very interested in astrology.” He somehow manages to say this with a straight face, belying his growing unholy excitement, proof that his instincts are finally leading him in the right direction. How could he have been so _blind_? “We take it a little more seriously than most here. It’s often used to figure out romantic compatibility.”

“I don’t know much about astrology. I think I’m a Libra?” Saki says, uncertain. She looks at him curiously. “What’s your sign then?”

Her answer is the final domino needed to topple all of today’s signs into one conclusion.

Ingemar’s grin nearly splits his face. “Gemini.” 

—

Saki can’t stop pacing. After Ingemar escorted her back to the sleeping quarters, neither acknowledging the _change_ in the air between them, he left with a hurried promise he’d see her at the lake. The cheeky kiss he blew to her after a glib “Don’t miss me too much!” sent Saki into such a flustered state it took her awhile to question how a lake fits into today’s plans. It must be him teasing again, she reasons. She nods to herself decisively. That’s surely it. Now all she has to do is wait out here for Karin to drag her to another esoteric, violently traumatizing event. Oh God, she’s so screwed. What’s next, drowning children in this mysterious lake? She shakes her head to dispel the thought. Karin had said this would be lighter and Saki couldn’t flake out on a promise, no matter how much she wanted to retreat, get some distance to think outside of numb disorientation, maybe even try to sleep this whole messed up day away.

“Misaki!” She turns, off-kilter, to see Karin striding over with a woven basket. It’s still jarring to hear her full name, as different as it sounds in Karin’s lilting tones. “How are you feeling? Earlier must have been quite a shock. I was so surprised to hear Ingemar had not warned you.” Karin peers closely at Saki and presses the back of a palm to her forehead. 

Saki heats up at the attention, unintentionally softening the bitterness of her reply. “He definitely didn’t.” 

“Please do not be too mad at him,” Karin says with beseeching eyes. “He is not the most emotionally attuned of my brothers.”

“I don’t know if I can promise anything. I’m still, um, processing,” Saki says. 

Karin smiles understandingly. “Take all the time you need,” she says soothingly. “We will do something far more fun now. Come along, yes?”

Saki looks back through the doorway, suddenly remembering Connie and Simon, who had been the most vocal about their distress earlier. She had meant to talk to them, make sense of this strange mixture of unsettlement and emptiness, somehow certain she wasn’t reacting “right,” but now seems to have lost her chance as she follows Karin to the edge of the festival grounds.

“What are we doing?” Saki asks nervously.

“Collecting flowers,” Karin says with a bright, excited expression. “For making flower wreaths.”

Saki is taken aback at how benign this sounds. “Really? That’s it?”

“Single girls make wreaths to float on the lake,” Karin explains, “which signifies luck in love if yours sinks last. There is also a candle that goes in the middle that, if it remains lit all night, means you will live the longest.”

“Has anyone ever gotten both?” Saki asks, ducking under a branch Karin holds aside for her. “Luck in love and longevity, I mean.”

Karin taps a finger to her chin in thought. “Not often. But do you really require more luck?” She gives Saki a teasing grin. “You already have so much after your fire-jumping. It’s sure to last you the whole year. Usually outsiders are not so keen on our traditions. You are almost a natural.”

Saki flushes at the praise. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“You are also modest I see.” 

They step through a patch of trees and Saki’s protest disappears from her lips.

Before them lies a mid-sized meadow full of wildflowers of various yellows, purples, and blues. From perky, four-leaved flowers to ones with drooping, near translucent petals there are all kinds of blossoms to marvel at. The white flowers from her first glimpse of Hårga at the meadow are woven throughout too. She recalls guiltily the pink flowers she’d so carelessly tossed aside in a moment of frustration. The reminder of just how beautiful this place is warred with the bloody, disturbing scene she had witnessed. It had felt like a trick, a pretty illusion to hide a dark underbelly, as if she had bitten into an apple with mold at its core. She doesn’t know what to think anymore as Karin, practically shining with enthusiasm, tells Saki the Swedish name for each flower. 

It’s not that Saki has forgotten the scene at the cliff. For a brief moment, Ingemar had distracted her from it with his sincere apology, then his flurry of questions after offering his own revelation in return. She’s used to compartmentalizing and compressing her emotions into something manageable, something neat. Once the mallet split that man’s head open like an overripe watermelon—her brain shut off. White noise echoed in her ears, physical sensation dulled to nothing. New sensory input was no longer being accepted. She still doesn’t feel wholly real despite the brush of grass against her calves or Ingemar’s fingers on her face like earlier. She tosses aside that last memory, suddenly warm.

“Would you like me to help you in making your wreath?” Karin asks. 

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Saki says sheepishly.

“It’s a symbol of great friendship to trust someone else with your flowers. They are meant to represent you after all. What stands out to you so far?”

Saki’s gaze sweeps the overwhelming selection, lost, before catching on a cluster of small, white bell-shaped flowers. When she walks over her eye is also caught by a pale blue flower that grows in an almost wild bushel. She hesitates for a moment, torn between the two. They’re both so pretty. She can’t decide. 

Karin laughs. “You can choose more than one.” She bends down next to Saki and cuts from both selections with a short folding knife, tiny leaves etched onto the metal. “Here. I brought you your own basket.”

Saki takes the basket which is a size smaller than Karin’s with a handle. Inside, there’s a thick vine, a knife, and the flowers she chose. A sweet, delicate scent drifts up from them. She can identify the white bells as lilies of the valley but can’t put her finger on the blue ones. She looks up to ask Karin, only to stare in awe at the carefully arranged bouquet the other girl has managed to create. She’s taken a few stems from nearly every copse of flowers and arranged them into a stunning rainbow in front of where she sits cross-legged on the ground. “Wow. That’s amazing!”

Karin tilts her head in confusion. “You will see far better wreaths tonight. I’ve been told mine is always a bit… too much.”

“It’s so beautiful though.” Saki walks over and crouches down beside Karin to take in the spread. “They’re so bright and colorful. It’s very you. I went the kind of boring route.”

Karin stares at Saki for a moment before giving her a small, private smile. “Thank you. Let me show you how to make the wreaths. Come, sit,” she says, patting the empty space beside her. 

Saki settles down on the wild grass. Karin takes out her own vine and begins bending it into a circle. As her hands work, Saki is brought back to how they felt braiding her hair at the bathhouse. It’s mesmerizing to watch them in action as she tucks in flowers around the vine’s perimeter with delicate efficiency, bending them this way and that to preserve their petals while tucking away their stems.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to do all that,” Saki says.

Karin laughs. “I’ll give you more instruction.”

She guides Saki’s hands to make the base of the wreath, the vine rough to the touch, but surprisingly pliable under their combined strength. Karin lets Saki tuck in the flowers herself, citing that the pattern and arrangement is more personal. It’s not as eye-catching or neat as Karin’s but an understated flower crown of white then blue repeated over and over again begins to come to life through Saki’s clumsy attempts. The repetitiveness of it is soothing, sending both of them into a meditative quiet. Thin shafts of light poke through the trees and their calm breaths are the only thing that can be heard above the gentle rustle of the wind.

“Did we hurt you earlier?” Karin asks, voice mild yet there’s an uncertainty to it.

Saki frowns. “Hurt?”

“The Ättestupa,” she replies, “you weren’t prepared and it harmed you, didn’t it? To see something so extreme with no context.”

Saki shifts uncomfortably at Karin’s perceptiveness. “I don’t know if I’d say that…”

Ingemar had taken her mind off the morning’s events, as distracting and confusing as ever. She’d needed it at the time. Their conversation served as a reminder that she was present. That she was still a person who could both be annoyed and be made to laugh after such mind-numbing horror. Except now, here is Karin trying to make her _talk_ about it when she’s never wanted to acknowledge any of the things she’s felt in her life. It’s as if stepping foot into this idyllic village has turned her into an exposed nerve from crying in front of a group of strangers on her first night to being coaxed to confront her current mixed emotions so soon.

“You don’t have to say it for me to notice,” Karin says. “I’ve helped ease many newbloods into our way of life. Meanwhile this is Ingemar’s first time bringing friends back home. Our traditions are not for the faint-hearted. Some of them are fun such as the games and the fire-jumping but some of them aren’t so fun. It always pains us to part from our elders. But it is also a happy parting, you see.”

“Happy?”

“Of course,” Karin exclaims. “It’s because they have _chosen_ it. They have control over their lives at the end before it is wrestled away by infirmity or illness. We know the time, the date. The community has the ability to grieve together. We don’t cry alone here. No one is ever hidden away, experiencing a pain that cannot be shared.” Saki blinks away images of all the corners on campus where she’s done exactly that, tucked out of sight and out of mind, Simon barely a balm when she’d finally muster up the courage to reach out. “You must think us callous to go and pick flowers right after. To act as if nothing has happened.”

“No, I don’t.” Distraction is something Saki understands all too well. 

Karin’s serious expression lightens at Saki passing over the opportunity to verbalize her judgement. “We also share our joy. Our elders will be commemorated in various ways throughout this week and beyond. They would want us to continue celebrating our lives and their contribution to the great cycle.”

Saki is silent as she contemplates this new information. Karin has not only offered an explanation but also a sorely needed comfort—a template of how to react. She can’t yet let go of the urge to blend in and conform to others. If Karin is radiating such calm acceptance how is Saki meant to go against it? Karin’s words snag within her brain, turning in circles over her phrasing. It seems that rather than be shunned as troublesome or annoying, a disruptor of group harmony with her messy emotions, instead she would be followed right into whatever spiral befell her. She doesn’t know what to do with this, so used to slipping into groups without causing a single ripple.

“You’re way too nice,” Saki eventually says. “You’re trying so hard to make me feel welcome. You seem naturally friendly but this,” she gestures between them, where they’re sitting, the whole day, “is definitely going the extra mile. Because you make it seem natural it’s hard to see the thought that goes behind it. So, I guess I’m saying, I appreciate all you do.” Saki tacks on, suddenly bashful under the force of Karin’s beaming, “And I don’t think of Hårga badly. If you were worried about that.”

“I am glad,” Karin replies simply.

They descend into another comfortable silence, broken only when Karin occasionally offers more instruction such as padding the wreath with greenery, the sunlight above them receding as time goes by.

“Do you both plan on missing the festivities?” a familiar voice asks, wry and amused—Ingemar. He emerges from the treeline like a particularly mischievous fairy. 

Saki startles at the interruption. “Oh, hi. Where have you been all day?”

“I had to talk with my grandmother about something important,” Ingemar explains. His voice quickly turns teasing. “I know my presence must have been sorely missed. Karin is no replacement for me. Although I greatly commend her for her help.” Here, he casts a playful look at Karin which she returns with less enthusiasm.

“Karin has been a great host,” Saki defends. 

“Oh?”

Saki looks challengingly at Ingemar. “I might even be inclined to say she’s a _better_ host than you.” 

Ingemar puts on an expression of such great offense it almost makes her laugh. “Those are serious words! I must rectify this at once,” he says, striding over to her and offering his hand. “Let me redeem myself by escorting you to the lake. It’s nearly sundown. The others must be done now.”

Saki stares at the proffered hand for a moment, surprised that their back-and-forth has resulted in such gallantry, as tongue-in-cheek as the gesture is considering it’s Ingemar. She hesitantly takes it and he pulls her up with ease, his surprisingly strong grip causing her to bump into his broad chest. She quickly rights herself. Karin rises, too, handing Saki her stuff before she can even notice its loss. The three of them walk further into the trees, Saki in between Karin and Ingemar, who talk in casual circles but there’s an undefinable energy to the air that keeps Saki quiet as she follows their blonde, moon-dappled heads. Up ahead, lamps and torches lead the way to where a congregation of villagers stand by the lake’s edge chattering excitedly with a kaleidoscope of wreaths in various hands.

Ingemar places light fingers on the small of Saki’s back, whispers in her ear, “We should get closer. You have to get support for your flower crown.”

Saki jolts at the touch. Unexpected heat pulses through her, leaving her tongue-tied and forced to nod mutely as response. They make their way over to a pile of circles made of wooden slats. “When it’s time to float your wreath out you put it on top of this. I’ll go and get you a candle, too,” Ingemar explains.

He returns with a long white candle that she takes without letting their fingers brush. Disappointment flashes across his face for a split second before it’s smoothed out. She studies him for a moment, confused, before a realization strikes her.

“Where did Karin go?” Saki asks, looking around.

“Ah,” Ingemar says, “she probably saw one of our sisters. Usually everyone gathers their flowers and finishes weaving together at the lakeside. They must be wanting to catch up.” 

Saki feels a twinge of guilt at hogging Karin these past few hours, although she hadn’t indicated that she would even be missed elsewhere. Before Saki can formulate a response, a clear note rings out, one which is swiftly echoed by the rest of the woman, their voices rising in a higher musical register. It reminds Saki of the beautiful song she’d heard the tail-end of earlier this morning being sung to one of the elders. She watches in fascination as candles begin to flare to life, the flame passing along from woman to woman. Saki returns the smile of an apple-cheeked brunette who lights Saki’s wick with her own. The girl motions to be followed and after a questioning glance at Ingemar who nods encouragingly she’s off. The two gather near the water as groups of four women walk in to set their wreaths adrift, lit candles standing tall in the middle. Once it’s her turn, she moves without thinking. 

Saki wades into the water, a shock of cold running up her calves. She lays down her wreath on its wooden platform and shakily balances her candle as a drop of wax drips down the side. Flowers fan out in the water to form a pale ring of white and blue. She slowly pushes it forward, holding her breath when it wobbles, before drifting across the water smoothly. The only light out on the lake is the glow of candle-flame, bobbing on the dark lake like flame-tipped will-o-the-wisps. 

Upon reaching the shore, the reality of walking around all night with a wet dress sinks in. She bends over to tie up her soaked skirt to her relatively dry knees. She senses a presence standing over and looks up, mouth opened to ask whoever it is for a hair tie, her knot isn’t the most secure, only to see the grim face of Connie. Saki straightens up immediately. 

Connie catches Saki by the elbow and leads her a little aways from the crowd. “I wanted to tell you first but Simon and I are leaving tomorrow.”

Saki gapes in disbelief. “What?”

“This place is fucked,” Connie whispers furiously, “or did we not both see the same _ritualistic_ _suicide_? We wanted to leave first thing except we’d already missed the train. Most of our shit’s already packed. We tried to find you earlier but you completely disappeared.” Connie rakes a hand through her messy ponytail, eyes suddenly assessing. “Where even were you? I can help you pack tonight after whatever bullshit this is. That older woman insisted we attend as if we’re gonna run off into the night.”

Saki fidgets under Connie’s expectant gaze, mind racing. She hadn’t thought of just… leaving. Sure, she had been shocked, horrified even earlier, but to completely remove herself seems extreme and short-sighted. Silly, almost, in the wake of her illuminating heart-to-heart with Karin. Looking around, at the orange-dimmed lamps in the trees, the sounds of the villagers as they cheered on the wreaths, she finds herself reluctant to imagine boarding a plane back to her uncertain post-grad future sooner than she absolutely has to. 

“Thanks for the offer but you don’t need to trouble yourself,” Saki says. “I plan on staying here for the rest of the festival.”

Connie’s expression twists in outrage. “They can’t make you stay here—”

“Saki,” Ingemar calls out in excitement. He stops in his tracks at the sight of Connie, keeping his distance. “Um, sorry. You look busy. It’s just your wreath—it’s doing well. Thought you might want to watch.”

Saki seizes the out Ingemar has given her. “Yeah, I’ll go now.” She barely spares a glance back at Connie, stomach churning with guilt at her cowardice. “I’ll try to see you off tomorrow. Have a good night, Connie.”

As she walks back to the festivities, Ingemar a warm presence by her side, she can’t rid herself of the image of Connie, standing half-obscured in the dark with a lost expression.

—

Karin makes her ways through the forest with the sounds of her brothers’ and sisters’ sleepy yet satisfied chatter all around her. While her candle had been extinguished early on, her flowers remained floating almost until the end—a very good omen. Their two newbloods had gotten the honor of lasting the longest. Dani had wilted like a shrinking violet under the praise, darting nervous eyes to her stone-faced boyfriend, while Misaki gave a sweetly bashful smile. Attention to appearance, to politeness is an assessment Karin made from the start. She’s learned far more useful information since then.

The trees part to reveal Grandmother Siv’s modest quarters tucked into the treeline. Serendipitously, the elder is steps away from her front door, and Karin calls after her. Karin’s heart begins to race as Siv turns, smiling in welcome yet a question in her eyes. “Grandmother,” Karin says, her voice breathless with nerves and excitement, “I want my chart to be drawn up for a match request.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve written “wreath” so much it doesn’t feel like a real word anymore. So, the big reveal has occurred with Karin. I needed narrative conflict and Ingemar should be made to work for it. Hopefully no one's too mad about the upcoming love triangle. It also seems I am incapable of writing women interacting with each other without throwing in some homoeroticism.
> 
> href="https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2683700/Baptism-fire-Girls-leap-flames-ancient-cleansing-ceremony-held-birthday-John-Baptist.html">This article is what I referenced heavily in crafting the bonfire and the wreath making scene.


	4. Witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side B — Bad Girls. Music provided this chapter by the bird and the bee and Tennis respectively. I _highly_ recommend listening to these tracks while reading. Witch single-handedly helped me come up with Karin's character and this main conflict.

The midnight sun shines on a new day with its benevolent light. Karin greets the morning with a smile that is not so different from usual, save for the secretive curve to its edges. Grandmother Siv’s blessing is buoyant in Karin’s chest as she gathers up the laundry. Most are still caught in their own dreams except for those with chores like her. Yesterday, she had to obfuscate her true purpose for changing the linens—to go through the sacrifice’s bags and take their passports—although Misaki’s interruption turned out to be quite fortuitous considering Connie and Simon’s attempted early departure. Karin lingers by Misaki’s bedside for a moment, noting that the braids she did for Misaki, originally to tease Ingemar, have been taken down to spool in dark waves on her pillow. The relaxed expression she wears in sleep, her long lashes fluttering, is almost cavity-inducing in its cuteness. Karin wants to sink her teeth into her. And she will, before the festival ends. Grandmother Siv tasked her with easing Misaki’s induction, so obviously one of them, despite Ingemar’s blindness to her potential or the careful preparation Pelle has poured into Dani. Karin falling for the girl and Ingemar following soon after had not been in the cards. But no matter. Ingemar can not stop her.

Karin fishes out Misaki’s pajamas from under the bed—she’d fallen asleep in her clothes, exhausted after two late nights in a row—and places them in the laundry pile to be “lost” later.

The walk to the laundry house is bracing. Cool wind tangles her skirt around her legs, forcing her to hold the wicker basket close to her chest. After dropping off the clothes to Mother Johanna with a cheery greeting, she oversees not only the washing of their garments but also their making, prone to returning to her origins when not sewing new designs. Karin strolls aimlessly for a moment, unsure whether to head back to the Youth House to see if anyone else has awoken yet before a call catches her attention. She turns to see Ulrika beckoning her from the doorway of the cookhouse.

“Ah, sister, well met!” Karin beams, drifting closer. “What is it you require this good morning?”

“I _require_ your assistance with breakfast. You have been slacking on your kitchen duties,” Ulrika scolds good-naturedly. She lightly hits Karin’s hip with a washcloth and Karin gives a dramatic yelp. 

Karin frowns piteously. “I was tasked by Grandmother Siv herself with an important mission that, even now, needs my full attention.”

When Karin tries to edge out of reach Ulrika’s hand shoots out to grab her by the forearm. Ulrika’s grip is as strong as ever. “You can’t worm your way out this time,” Ulrika threatens playfully. Karin laughs as she tries to struggle anyway. The mouth-watering smell of bread and oil waft from inside, Karin is pulled so near to the building she can feel the heat of the ovens burning at full power.

Inga peers around the edge of the threshold. “Good morning, Sister Karin. Have you found any more information on the dark-haired one I am to distract?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Karin feels a sharp stab of guilt at the way Inga’s hopeful expression falls. “I have heard he is very light-hearted and _very_ interested in you. You made quite an impression on him. I am certain your charms will be so great he will lay his own head on the chopping block.”

Inga brightens at the sly encouragement, her hands untwisting themselves from her white apron. 

“Enough counseling from our love witch,” Ulrika says, releasing Karin. “Go put on an apron.”

Karin sighs gustily before she steps forward into the kitchen. Then, she catches a glimpse of Maja, red hair covered by a kerchief, holding a steaming plate of whole grain bread to be cut open and piled high with cheese, meat, cucumbers, or tomato. Thinking fast, Karin waits until Maja crosses her path to swipe the platter and hurry through the door to the supper table. Ulrika curses loudly behind her. 

Karin tosses over her shoulder: “I’ll take these ahead since they’re done. I promise I will come back later to help and with a friend!”

She giggles madly to herself. Ulrika is usually the hardest for her to get tricks past. Yes, today is most certainly her day.

Villagers begin to stream towards the seats as Karin arranges the cutlery and platters that are handed off to her, a sign that all has been forgiven by Ulrika, brought by sisters coming from the kitchen. Pelle’s charges also arrive, bumping each other aside in their hurry. The trio settle down farther down from Karin with Dani still nowhere in view. Karin soon forgets this at the sight of Misaki walking alone, too hungry to wait for her erstwhile group Karin assumes as the both of them missed dinner last night. Karin waves her over and delights in how Misaki visibly lights up at seeing her. Misaki settles down in the seat next to Karin with a soft “Good morning” that makes her want to pinch the girl’s sleep-creased cheek. While Karin can fault Ingemar for his obliviousness, she has to commend his taste. The sounds of friendly chatter and eating break outs across the table while a comfortable silence descends between them. Misaki soon breaks it.

“Where is Ingemar?” Misaki whispers to her. 

“Him and Pelle are busy this morning,” Karin replies. She pauses, then pouts, saying, “Are you tired of me already? I thought I might show you more of the village—what we do in our day-to-day.”

Misaki scrambles adorably to reassure Karin. “Not at all! I’ve been enjoying our time together. I was just curious since he left the house and then didn’t come back.”

Karin rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “He’s as forgetful as an elder.”

Misaki stifles a smile. Accepting the explanation, Misaki returns to her plate and Karin spares a brief thought of annoyance towards her brother for once again having to smooth over his oversight. She’s frankly surprised he managed to convince Misaki to not immediately run for the hills. Keeping her isolated from her friends’ dramatics must have gone a long way in normalizing the traumatic event.

“Let’s go,” Karin says, happily, once breakfast has died down. She helps Misaki up from her chair and guides her with a friendly hand through the grounds. Misaki is an avid listener as Karin explains the various activities villagers are engaged in, easily fielding whatever questions are sent her way, making sure to highlight how quaint and peaceful their way of life is. Everything must come in stages, in tantalizing morsels when easing in newbloods. After yesterday, it wouldn’t do to scare Misaki again. 

A gaggle of children, running from their rune lessons it seems, suddenly accost the pair with demands to be played with. Misaki looks to Karin for translation as the quick, high-pitched Swedish goes over her head.

Grinning, Karin scoops up a brown-haired child on one arm, catches Misaki by the hand with the other, and takes off in a random direction as a chorus of delighted shrieks erupt. As they run, Karin explains the rules of keep-away that she has just made up while her captive wiggles ferociously. Misaki laughs delightedly at the sight and pulls Karin around a shady corner into a crouch. Pasting on a look of faux menace she slaps a hand against Elias’ mouth to keep him from revealing their location, remaining stone-faced at the inevitable lick across her palm. As the trio lie in wait, the poorly concealed sounds of children attempting to sneak passes them by, but before any celebration can be had Elias slips out from Karin’s arms and runs to alert his friends of his daring escape. Suddenly, a bell rings out, the sound brings back her own school days, and Karin pushes Misaki forward into a sprint, shouting, “Run! Quick!”

Out of breath, Karin and Misaki lean against the side of a building to gather their bearings after the disorganized run. “That bell means the teacher is about to punish the children for skipping,” Karin explains through her chuckles. “Although it is a festival they still have shortened lessons in the morning.” 

In the distance, Karin swears she can hear the school teacher’s exasperated scolding.

“Where are we?’” Misaki asks, looking around, brown skin faintly flushed from either the running or the laughing.

Karin’s eyes alight on the familiar doorway of the cookhouse. “Oh,” she says, “this is our communal kitchen. We cook and bake most of what the village eats in here.” At Misaki’s curious stare, Karin sets in motion the second part of her tour. “Would you like to see inside? We’re making meat pies for tonight’s dinner. I promised I would help earlier.”

They make their way into the kitchen, steam engulfing them upon entry. Ulrika straightens up at seeing Karin but the lecture is tucked away when she catches sight of Misaki, suddenly shy, sticking closely to Karin’s side. In the line of women pounding dough Karin spies Dani’s blonde ponytail swinging as she works. Spying the strings of a white apron around her waist gives Karin an idea, spurring her to silently take one off the rack for herself, then offer the second to Misaki who gazes at it for a long enough beat that Karin can, in plausible friendliness, put the apron on for her. Karin makes sure to keep her hands perfunctory, not allowing them to linger. If only she had been able to do Misaki’s hair again—this vision of her in Hårgan white would have been perfect then. These half-visions are driving her mad.

“I see you’ve brought a friend,” Ulrika remarks, all welcoming smiles. “Come, let us cook.”

Dani glances to see who has entered, her eyes widening at Misaki. She hurriedly casts her eyes down again to focus on her rolling pin. _What is that about_? Karin wonders. But she can’t ponder this strangeness for long as Ulrika sets her on a brutal pace, giving Misaki the easier tasks of filling up the pies and brushing their crusts with egg wash. The rest of the women chatter amongst themselves, Ulrika dipping in occasionally to translate for the newbloods, Misaki receiving the brunt of complimentary attention as Dani emits rays of intense concentration. 

Distracted by the rhythm of the kitchen, no one notices until too late the incoming collision between Misaki, carefully focusing on her tray of uncooked pies, and Dani’s brisk transfer of a tray of ones straight from the oven. Neither of them drop their trays but Dani saves a meat pie from hitting the ground, hissing in pain from the heat as she sets it down. Everyone crowds around them and takes the trays, checking Dani’s hands for any burns, only a faint pinkness to be seen on her fingertips. After giving Misaki her own onceover, Karin suggests, with a gentle smile, “Why don’t I show you both the garden?”

Misaki makes the appropriate _oohs_ and _ahs_ once they reach the vegetable patch while Dani’s expression grows more fretful by the second. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Dani asks.

Karin raises a curious eyebrow. “Of course.”

“I woke up a little late so I missed some things,” Dani says slowly, “like Mark peeing on a sacred tree. And fiancés abandoning their partners for no reason. Is it, like, super important only one person is in the truck at a time? Or was the train schedule suddenly changed?” Karin shakes her head. Confusion blooms across Misaki’s face and Dani continues, “So then Simon totally left Connie behind earlier.”

Misaki’s brow furrows. “Simon would never do that.”

“Well, that’s what I was told happened today.” Dani shrugs, shoulders tight with sympathetic frustration. “Apparently he went ahead to the station in the truck. They said they’d come back for her but Connie stormed off in tears.”

“That’s awful. I said goodbye to them both this morning—maybe I should go find her.”

Karin takes this moment to interject. “I’m sure everything’s been taken care of and Connie is already on her way home,” she soothes. 

“Something must have happened,” Misaki insists. “He’d never. He actually cares about Connie.” 

Dani stiffens. Misaki notices the tension, silently replays her words and slightly winces, immediately sensing that Dani has hooked on to the “actually.” Is this a genuine slip or a secret hint that there’s a couple that everyone can tell doesn’t _actually_ care about each other? Before Misaki can backtrack, Karin chimes in. 

“I’m sure he does,” Karin says, her tone radiating enough calm to raise Dani’s hackles. “Anybody with eyes could see their love for each other. They make a great couple.”

Sympathy blinks across Misaki’s face, brief, at how saddened Dani seems after Karin’s effusive praise. Misaki casts a look at Karin that communicates such perfectly subtle _what-the-hell-are-you-saying_ chastisement it’s as if she were fluent in Hårgan emotion. Karin barely hides her delight. _This_ is what drew Karin to her. Her sharply-honed perception. The flash of awareness she’d shown at the meadow—identifying the strings of politeness and effort that had gone into Karin’s welcoming of Ingemar’s potential match, not to mention her thoughtful compliment of Karin’s wreath—was simply inspired. Yet delicate. The outside world had made her doubtful of herself, using her talents out of an anxious fear of rejection. Far too precious to remain in Ingemar’s careless hands. Karin has always taken loving care of her things.

“You and Christian make a great couple, too,” Misaki adds. “I think I’m going back to the room to ask about Connie. See if she made it out alright.” Karin opens her mouth to object, or catch her by the sleeve, but Misaki is already walking backwards, out of reach. “I have to get something from there anyway. I’ll be just a minute, I swear.”

She disappears around a corner.

—

Saki arrives at the main house with guilt a heavy weight on her shoulders. How could she have been so dismissive of Connie last night? The ease she’d felt with the villagers as they followed the candle-lit wreaths down the river is now tainted by the memory of leaving Connie at the trees. Just like Simon had done this morning. Except, that’s so unlike him Saki can’t even imagine it. Simon abandoning Connie? Just earlier, before she’d rushed off to breakfast practically starving, the two had been gathering their things as they whispered sweetly to each other. Saki bid them goodbye somewhat awkwardly after Simon earnestly asked if she truly wanted to stay behind. It wasn’t too late to come. They all knew Ingemar was more _their_ friend than hers. She’d glanced over at Ingemar then, catching the forlorn sadness on his face, wiped away once they made eye contact. But just that second of vulnerability tugged at her, stirring within her a sense of sympathy and camaraderie. They could leave the couple to their own devices now. No longer dragged along by the hope of an impossible what-if. This remote, pleasant village as good of a place as any to soothe any lingering heartache. Ingemar was trying to convince the couple to at least stay long enough to eat when Saki left. 

She half-heartedly searches the empty building, despite knowing Karin’s right. Connie is long gone. Her and Simon’s bedsheets are tucked back into place. The room is bare of even a trace of their presence. Saki vows to text Connie later. Figuring out what flight time the couple managed to get on such short notice is harder than simply waiting until nightfall—or at least what passes for it here. London is only an hour’s difference.

The sound of footsteps scatters her thoughts. 

She turns to see Ingemar braced against the doorway, devastation writ large across his features. His hair is curled up at the ends and his shirt clings to his chest as if he’s just come from the showers. There’s a towel wrung out of shape in his hands.

“Ingemar? Are you alright?”

He looks up from his blank study of the floor, startled. “Apologies. I was simply thinking,” he says, rubbing a weary palm over his face. “I just saw Connie off.” 

At this, normal questions form on her lips, _Did she get there okay?_ or _How was she_ — _I heard about Simon_ but instead what slips out is, “How are you feeling?” 

Ingemar blinks at her. 

“Um,” Saki falters, “You seemed upset is all. Earlier. And now, too, honestly. I know you said you were over Connie but it must still be hard. Seeing her off so unhappily.” The silence between them lengthens, extending further and further, until her next words trip out of her. “Do you need a hug?”

White hot embarrassment lights her up from inside. Where the _hell_ did that come from, she chastises herself. Her and Ingemar aren’t close enough for this offer to seem anything but—weird. Right? She chances a look at Ingemar, ready to backtrack, wave it all away. Except, Ingemar is already staring at her with a gleam in his eye. He almost seems… eager.

“Would you really?” he asks. “We’re big huggers here in my community so that actually sounds great. You understand the situation more than my siblings, too. Of course, if it’s not too much trouble for you.”

“Not at all,” Saki says automatically. Damn her politeness. “If you’re fine with a hug from me then I’m happy to give it. Uh, how should we do this?”

She awkwardly half-raises her arms but Ingemar walks past to settle on her bed instead. At Saki’s confusion, he explains, “I thought it would be more comfortable if we sat down. I’m not a quick hugger.” Here, he gives a small bashful smile.

“Okay. No problem.” Her pulse quickens. “Take as much time as you need.”

She forces her leaden feet to head towards the bed and gingerly sits down beside him. She sinks into the mattress, bringing her flush against him from hip to thigh to leg. This whole situation is like a strange mirror of yesterday just with far more physical contact. 

His voice is a low murmur. “Ready?” 

She nods, bracing herself.

Then, she has an armful of firm, broad-chested Swede. Strong arms wrap around her middle spurring her to return the hold. His woodsy, natural scent fills her nose and only barely distracts her from the close press of their chests. When he tucks his damp face into the curve of her neck, she swears she can feel her soul leave her body at the heat that flashes through her. Fuck. She’s getting hot and bothered while Ingemar is coming to her for comfort. How inconsiderate can she be? She’s barely two days into moving on from Simon and Ingemar is obviously still hung up on Connie if he’s _crying_ right now. In for a penny, in for a pound. She hooks her chin onto his shoulder. All she can do is act as if it’s not affecting her. As if she’s a reliable person to lean on. She doesn’t know when she began to care about being that for him but she’s here now. So she tries to relax, to drift. 

“Is your shoulder getting tired?” Ingemar asks softly, stirring her to awareness. 

It fell asleep a while ago, now reduced to a faint ache. Like the one between her legs. “I’m fine.”

“We can change positions.” He pulls out of her embrace and an intense wave of loss rushes in. Only for him to then push her onto her back. The rustle of the bedsheets snap her out of her stupor. 

“What are you doing?”

He cocks his head innocently. “Getting us more comfortable.”

“By lying down? Isn’t this a bit… much?” Saki asks.

“I let you lay on my lap the first night,” Ingemar points out. His clear blue eyes turn imploring. “This will be just like that but more comfortable.”

Caught out, Saki succumbs to his logic and remains prone on the bed, awaiting his next move with bated breath. He simply lays his head on her stomach, turned so he’s facing away from her. The stubble on his cheek can be felt through the thin fabric of her skirt. His breath is hot as it puffs out across her belly button. His hands rest sideways on her lower belly, dangerously close to a place she’d been successfully ignoring. Until now that is. Mortifyingly, a bead of wetness wells up at the top of her pussy, trickling down slowly. Was she this turned on at the meadow? She’d been too distraught and disoriented by the steep wave of her high to take stock of anything. Had his thighs been soft or thick with corded muscle? Did she place her hands on his knee or were they further up? Just like her old affection for Simon, these memories, too, are lost to the bonfire. 

She flinches when Ingemar shifts, snaking an arm under the small of her back, so he’s clasping her around the waist once more. She feels like a glorified body pillow. She bites down on a hysterical laugh. Who knew this trip would result in a cuddle session with a man whose mere presence set her on edge days ago. He still unsettles her sometimes. That indecipherable light he gets in his eyes, just before he cuts right through to the darkest parts of her. Almost as if he revels in the moment it all comes bursting through the surface. She still can’t figure out why she just sat and watched him try to destroy a healthy relationship. One that included her closest friend at that. It was like he’d cast a spell over her that night at the party, whispered to a part of her that wanted to be selfish for once. To set the fire herself rather than blow out the match.

She’s always lived her life according to outside expectations. What else was she supposed to do with everyone’s hopes for her, practically hanging above their heads like neon colored signs? She doesn’t know if maybe she’s just good at reading people, or hyper-sensitive to disappointment. Her first romantic relationship began at her college boyfriend’s request, delivered in the form of a stilted confession, and ended at his discretion. Her friendships were surface-level affairs devoid of personal effects from either party. She had thought maybe with Simon she could be different. Be the kind of girl who voices her desires. That doesn’t spend so much time worrying about what others think. But Connie doesn’t have to try, she’s already all those things, it’s why she’s the one with a fiancé, after all.

It’s not Connie’s fault. Saki is the architect of her own discontent. She wants to be read as carefully as she reads others. Yet refuses to give anyone something to work with. Too afraid of doing or being wrong. She wants to be attended to, her needs anticipated, her desires teased out. To take her fill and be _encouraged_ in her selfishness. All of that is so amorphous and vague though. She hasn’t even decided what she’ll do after this trip. Post-graduation looms before her, empty and listless. Then—she feels it.

A brush of lips on her stomach. Even through her shirt the accidental contact burns like a brand. The rise and fall of her breaths must have turned Ingemar’s head, she rationalizes. That’s all. It’s not like he meant to do that. Except, now her entire body feels flushed, electric. Every place where their bodies touch is sensitized with a hyper-awareness. His right hand has shifted to palm-side down against her. The breadth of it is so wide his pinky is right above the waistband of her underwear. He can’t possibly know that, hidden as it is under her clothes. 

“Saki… ” Ingemar says her name in a slow, deliberate way that sends her heart jumping.

“Yes?” she asks, tense.

“Do you ever think—”

A loud bell cuts him off.

“Oh. Dinner,” Ingemar says, annoyed. He sits up reluctantly and as he stretches, his shirt rising just enough to provide a peek-a-boo tease, he slants an appraising look at her. “We can continue this conversation after we eat. Are you hungry?”

—

Ingemar and Misaki arrive at the supper table together rumpled. Misaki takes a seat beside Karin, flicking her a distracted smile. Ingemar, of course, sits on Misaki’s other side. He is radiating a smugness so self-satisfied that Karin longs to dampen it. Her attention is caught by the other side of the table. The air surrounding the Americans is the heaviest it’s ever been. Karin made sure to keep Dani on edge during their time together, feeling magnanimous towards her brother’s efforts, while she ruins another brother’s plans before they can even take shape. Dani inquires after Connie’s whereabouts and after a tasteless “running Olympics” joke from Mark which leaves Misaki looking pale. The conversation is quickyl settled by a carefully crafted explanation provided by a family member. One last cutting remark is said, by Dani surprisingly, and then silence reigns.

Karin runs a hand over Misaki’s shoulder, brushing aside some hair with the motion. She cites a rogue dust bunny as an excuse for the contact. Misaki’s neck is still unblemished. So, it seems her dear brother is once more counting his chickens before they hatch. Ingemar has always let his impatience rule him. It grants him formidable focus and drive in the moment, yet disadvantages him in games such as these. No one of their generation is Pelle’s equal in puppeting events but Karin is far more accomplished in the romantic application of manipulation. Many sisters have been delivered to their family either from her arms or through her words. The thought that maybe this time she’ll be able to keep a catch for herself, well, she loves Ingemar—but she won’t go easy on him.

She can already see the stark contrasts in their approaches. As the two subtly vy for Misaki’s attention, interspersed with bites of flaky pie, she studies Ingemar’s technique. He is more prone to pigtail-pulling, teasing his lovers until they cry. His occasional sweetness tempered by a wicked mischievous streak. Compatible, on the surface, with the Libran need for variety but Misaki’s Venus in Virgo makes her reserved in love, shy almost. She guards her heart closely. Prefers partners who are steadfast and views Ingemar’s mercuriality with deep suspicion. Which is ideal for Karin whose brand of sustained affection is akin to a child lovingly squeezing the life out of a favorite toy. Misaki would react so beautifully to a kind yet firm hand. Karin just has to ease her into it, like a warm bath.

Misaki picks up her glass and it’s only a flash of sunlight that reveals it, the faint hint of a cloudy milkiness, nearly imperceptible against the pale yellow of the drink. Before Karin can react, Misaki is already taking a large gulp. She coughs. “Oh, that’s… different. It’s so bitter.” 

Her tongue peeks out from between her lips in disgust, a far less innocent replay of yesterday morning’s hangover tea scene, and Karin feels like spitting fire. Smiling, she says in a sweet voice, “Don’t worry. I’ll switch drinks with you. That’s a special flavor I’m more used to.” Then, she takes the drink, watching slow, betrayed realization spread across her brother’s face as she downs it, making uninterrupted eye contact with him until every drop is consumed. “There. All gone. Come, try mine.”

“Thank you,” Misaki says, sipping at Karin’s cup hesitantly before finding it tolerable. 

Ingemar’s eyes burn into the side of her head as she sets the glass down. She’s done it now. In challenging Ingemar’s courting gesture so directly, she’s essentially made a declaration of war. There is no more hiding her intentions towards Misaki. 

Once dinner ends, the newbloods flock back to their quarters, only Misaki stopping for a moment before Karin and Ingemar shoo her on ahead. They might as well get this conversation over with. Her brother turns on her immediately.

“Is this some kind of joke to you?” Ingemar demands in low, angry Swedish. “Saki isn’t one of your little playthings!”

Karin is aghast. “ _Playthings_ ? I have _never_ disrespected my lovers like that. Giving someone a love spell without their knowledge isn’t playing around with them?” Ingemar winces slightly and Karin presses her advantage. Just the idea of Misaki unintentionally drinking Ingemar’s semen, maybe even his pubic hair for extra potency, blinds her with a fury that sharpens her words. “What? Are you scared your charms are lacking? That you won’t be able to win this one’s heart either?”

“Look who’s acting so high and mighty,” Ingemar scoffs. “As if your spell casting is any different. The love witch grows a conscience, I see.”

“I at least trust her enough to let her make her own decisions.” 

Ingemar visibly reigns himself in, says, calm and decisive, “Whatever you’re doing here—don’t. I’ve already gotten Grandmother’s blessing. And I care about her—”

“Oh, you care about her? Everyone stop what they’re doing, Ingemar _cares_ about her!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You talk all this nonsense while doing nothing,” Karin tells him. “I had to be told by Grandmother to watch over Misaki back when you couldn’t even see her potential. I have been spending the most time with her and instructing her in our ways. What have you done? Half-heartedly decide to give up on a bad match and move on to your second choice?” 

Unfettered rage travels across Ingemar’s face so quickly Karin almost doesn’t catch the sliver of fear. Almost. “Half-hearted?” he splutters, disbelieving. “Wait, Misaki?”

Karin looks at him pityingly. “Do you not even know the name of your own ‘match?’”

Ingemar growls in frustration. “Of course I do! What are _you_ doing using it? You know what, never mind.” He waves a dismissive hand in the air. “You may have gotten a little closer to her these past few days but it’d do you well to remember it’s _only_ been a few days. Me and Saki have history. Meanwhile, you don’t even know if she’s interested in women.”

“You don’t either,” Karin says defensively.

“She is not as easily swayed as your past conquests. You criticize me for my insincerity, look at your past. You’ve made a name for yourself not only from your successes in matchmaking but also your freeness with your love. What would Saki say if she heard of how fleeting your affections are?”

Karin’s voice is a string drawn tight enough to snap. “Don’t speak of things you know nothing about.”

“And neither should you,” Ingemar replies shortly.

“If you have any more complaints,” Karin says, “I suggest you bring them to Grandmother.” As she stalks off, she tosses one last comment over her shoulder. “She was the one who said Misaki and I were compatible.”

Karin wanders aimlessly across the grounds, mind roiling. The love witch. Always that name. An affectionate nickname given to her during pilgrimage, borne from one too many smooth flirtations and successful couples brought together by her machinations. It only followed her home after a surprise visit by Ulla, studying in Belgium at the time, who became a hit among Karin’s friends after outdrinking them by the Seine. Of course, Ulla had found the moniker funny. They had spent their adolescence together after all. One where Ulla watched brothers and sisters trade Karin all manner of things for the love potions and binding spells that somehow always turned out better when she did them. Every one of them have their gifts. Karin’s has always been in matters of the heart—and in the craft. But she will not use those kinds of tricks here, won’t steal a lock of hair, or hide a token under a bed frame. Either Misaki will love her through regular means or she won’t love her at all.

Misaki is digging through her bags when Karin walks into the Youth House. She’s worrying her lower lip between her teeth, agitated. Ah, the next phase of Karin’s plan is in motion.

“Are you looking for something?” Karin asks innocently.

Misaki glances up. “Oh. Yes, I can’t seem to find my pajamas. I must have misplaced them.”

Karin’s face drops in an inspired display of remorse. “Oh no, I think I might be behind this. I took everyone’s garments this morning to be washed.” She turns as if she’s going to make her way back outside. “It should have been done already—I’ll go wake Mother Johanna and ask her to unlock the laundry.”

“No, no,” Misaki says quickly. “It’s alright. You don’t have to inconvenience her like that.”

Karin frowns. “But what will you wear tonight?” 

“I’ll be fine for one night.”

“That will not do.” Karin tsks good-naturedly. “Let me find something for you.” 

Karin rushes upstairs to find the nightgown she laid out on her bed for this very moment. It’s one of her shortest ones from when she was a gangly teen, growing so fast the hems of all her dresses were four inches higher than appropriate. It’ll be better suited for Misaki’s petite frame. Hanna is reading in bed, half in shadow since she’s situated in the corner, and startles at Karin’s excited stomping. Karin grins sheepishly while she gathers up the shift, then leaves shading her eyes as a sign that she hasn’t seen a hastily hidden copy of _Låt den rätte komma in_ peeking out from under Hanna’s pillow. She takes the stairs down two at a time. Ingemar has appeared at Misaki’s elbow to stand a bit too close to her. Ignoring him, Karin shakes out the nightgown with a flourish. “You can wear this for tonight.”

“Oh, my God, thank you. This is too much—”

Karin presses the garment into Misaki’s hands firmly. “It is an old shift that barely even fits me. You will get far more use of it than I.”

“Thank you, again. Seriously,” Misaki says, looking a little overwhelmed. 

Karin smiles softly in response. She will get used to receiving small kindnesses such as these now that she’s home. Of course, Ingemar chooses this moment to speak up.

“You had her clothes washed? How nice,” Ingemar says, tone casual. “We don’t usually include guest’s laundry in our washings.” _I know you did this on purpose_.

“I want to make Misaki as comfortable as possible.”

Ingemar watches her coolly. “Uh-huh.” 

“Um, not to interrupt, but could you both look away?” 

Ingemar and Karin do so while forming a privacy screen around her with their bodies, in sync despite being at romantic odds. The sounds of Misaki changing is all Karin can focus on. The unclasping of a bra, the rustle of a shirt or maybe her skirt being slid off. Karin almost wishes she’d tried on the shift before giving it to Misaki, so that she’d be wearing the faintest impression of Karin’s body, of her skin and sweat and scent, to bed. Is the same fabric that touched Karin now skimming Misaki’s hips, clinging to her chest, swishing around and between her thighs? 

Misaki clears her throat nervously. “You can turn around now.”

Karin’s eyes widen. She looks just like a Hårgan. The plain white shift accentuates her brown skin as if she’s lit from within by a holy light. Its slightly flared skirt and knee-length hem also draw attention to long, coltish legs despite her short stature. The thick straps are a tad too long, she has to keep sliding it up a smooth shoulder, and the motion draws Karin’s eye to the square neckline of the gown. There’s a freckle right above where the garment begins. The sight of it is so distracting, so tantalizing Karin doesn’t register that the white fabric, combined with its thinness for the summer months, does little to mask her dusky nipples. Karin bites down on a gasp and tears her gaze away. Her plan has gone too well, she thinks, suddenly hot. She lands on Ingemar who has migrated back to his bed, annoyingly right beside Misaki’s, probably to get a better view of her in her entirety. Ingemar’s stare burns with both jealousy at Misaki wearing _her_ clothes instead of his and gratitude at the visual feast that Karin has provided for them. 

“Uh, does it look alright? You’ve been quiet for a long time…” Misaki shuffles her feet.

“You look great,” Karin and Ingemar blurt out at the same time. They then glare at each other.

Misaki laughs. “Jinkx. Thanks, I’m heading to bed. Good night.”

“Good night,” Karin says.

“If you ever get tired of dresses,” Ingemar teases slyly, “I can lend you my pants, too.”

Misaki flushes, red barely visible in her cheeks. “I’m good,” she squeaks, diving under her sheets.

“Good night, Karin,” Ingemar says meaningfully.

Karin rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at him while Misaki is fluffing her pillow. She knows a dismissal when she hears one. “Good night, Ingemar.” Tomorrow is a new day, filled with even more chances for Karin to play like a fine-tuned instrument. Karin hums happily to herself as she ascends the stairs once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe I took so long writing this that another BNF (AnonLady) has left the fandom. 
> 
> And thus concludes why Karin is a fearsome opponent in the quest for Saki’s heart. Although I love Rimanez’s work this is no Unholy Affekts—I want y’all to feel conflicted. I swear I like Ingemar, I just don’t like making things easy for him LOL. I know there’s fan theory that helping in the killing of the sacrifices means you, too, will be offered. However, I needed the angst of Ingemar drowning Connie himself so I’m just gonna hand-wave whoever dies. Next chapter is a climax of sorts—it’s the Maypole dance after all—but it’s also only the midway point of this story. Låt den rätte komma in is Let The Right One In. I just Googled popular Swedish books.
> 
> I have never written smut before even though things kinda got steamy here and next chapter has a full on sex scene. Please bear with me. It felt weird to type “pussy” but I wasn’t typing “sex” and I reserve the use of “cunt” only for characters-are-fucking-right-now. I’m also very opposed to the usage of “cock” so we’ll figure that out next time.

**Author's Note:**

> You ever write a whole chapter only to realize you haven’t physically described your OC once? Haha, me neither. More background on Saki is 1) she went to a foreign language college where she majored in English on the Linguistics track and 2) her father grew up in the UK--ergo, her reasoning for wanting to finish her studies in London––but traveled a lot until they settled down in Japan, her mother’s birthplace, when Saki was 10. I wanted Saki to feel a big sense of isolation and displacement, which is harder to achieve if she’s coming from a Western, English-speaking country like the U.S. or some parts of Europe. Since I’ve lived and studied in Japan, I thought I’d be less likely to blunder basic things than if I chose another country. Saki's mother does speak in Japanese but I'm so bad at writing (kanji's a bitch) I'm not subjecting y'all to that. I probably will not attempt Swedish for similar reasons.
> 
> Another important aspect of Saki is a constant not-homeness from her childhood traveling and she is also racially mixed in a homogeneous country. Then, she arrives in London for grad school to connect to her late father (who passed away in high school) but feels as if she's in a foreign country rather than experiencing a homecoming. As a woman of color, I just thought it's a good fissure to exploit––the innate sense of not belonging anywhere POC feel at one point or another. The final blow is the loss of her emotional home, her mother, her first year leaving her completely untethered and primed for a cult. The Hårgans have a very entrenched sense of place and home, yet is exceedingly welcoming which is very appealing to Saki. Her emotional repression is also a drawpoint.
> 
> Saki tends to reflect what people want or expect back at them rather than her true personality, like a personalized hand mirror. Ingemar, however, is more like a prism where each side is calibrated to certain persons or situations. So when they meet takes the dull, forgettable veneer as all there is rather than a carefully crafted neutral state for others to project on. Meanwhile, Saki knows Ingemar isn’t all he seems, reading people is how she’s such a good mirror, but he’s mercurial, hard to pin down. Essentially, he's a challenge. Ingemar will soon realize Saki is also a challenge in her own right. Hopefully, I can write believably and interesting enough the romantic/sexual tension this creates. I love astrology so there is significance behind everyone's zodiac sign. Ingemar is a Gemini, Connie is a Sagittarius, and Saki is a Libra. Simon, I unfortunately can't figure so I leave that up to imagination. Also everyone besides Saki is an Environmental Studies masters because I said so. 
> 
> Special shout-out to [Rimanez](/users/Rimanez/) whose Ingemar in _Unholy Affekts_ made me want to write a better outcome for him! There was a playfulness to her depiction of him that, sorry to Pelle girls, endeared him to me. I, too, love a devoted man who thinks the world of me but I also like a side of mischievousness and brattiness to go along with it. Thank you to the two people who will probably read this. For anyone who’s made it this far, fun fact: Simon’s actor is apparently 6’5"!


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